


Bend or Break

by lehulei



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2017-11-30 00:55:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 48,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lehulei/pseuds/lehulei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione's childhood sweetheart dies in a car accident, leaving her with their baby to raise alone. She can't cope with the loss or bear to see the baby that reminds her of him. An unexpected man comes into her life who just might be able to help her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Ending and a Beginning

“One. Two. Three,” she counted off, gently touching each of the perfect chubby fingers that the little newborn presented her with. She was lying in the hospital bed, propped up against the headboard with fat white pillows, the small son she had carried with her for almost nine months nestled quietly in the crook of her arms. Her brown hair was tangled with sweat, her body was bruised and tired from the events of the night. She struggled to not think about _before_ and just appreciate the new life she was holding but the grief was too great and too fresh to be controlled.

Her eyes burned and the baby’s sweet blue eyes and carrot-colored hair swam before her as tears began to spill down her cheeks. He looked confused as his mother silently wept, her long hair forming a curtain over her face as she leaned down to feel his soft head with her lips. The sobs she struggled so hard to keep from escaping caused a violent rocking against him that he didn’t like and he made this known, letting an angry wail escape him. _Mummy, I don’t like this! Please stop!_

And while she dimly registered what the baby was trying to say, she found that once she had started she couldn’t stop. She brought her free hand up to try to wipe her eyes, but ended up just leaving it there as the sobs were taken from the very core of her.

Spliced images flashed in her mind sending jolts of delayed reaction through her—a large familiar hand enveloping her own—the sudden and ominous appearance of white headlights filling her vision—the world flipping over and over—the shock of pain to her head and body—abrupt blackness—a bleary awareness of someone lifting her up. She couldn’t picture much after that. She just knew that she’d ended up in this hospital, needing to find the will to stay alive for her baby, the only person she had left.

A despairing moan escaped her and her sobs increased. The door to the hospital room opened and quiet footsteps rushed into the room. Hermione paid no heed as the space next to her sagged with someone’s weight and warm strong arms came around her. Another pair of hands reached for her son and she jerked him away instinctively. The hands stilled and a soothing and familiar voice murmured, “It’s okay, love, I’m just going to see if he needs anything so you have some time for yourself.” Hermione relaxed upon hearing Ginny’s voice and handed her baby over.

Her hospital gown crinkled as she turned to Harry who was rubbing his hands up and down her arms in a calming motion, as if that would be enough to wipe away the icy cold that had taken root inside her. After a minute or two, her tears quieted. She rubbed her hands over her face and met Harry’s eyes, her pain echoed in his, the same but different. He didn’t say any of the trite and banal words of sympathy. He knew it wouldn’t help and would only make a mockery of their loss. She closed her eyes and leaned into him. He tightened his arms around her. The bleak look in her eyes concerned him and he met his wife’s eyes over the brunette’s head. 

Ginny’s expression told him she wasn’t sure what to do and she turned her attention back to the newborn she rocked in her arms. The baby was being lulled to sleep, thin eyelids closing over his big blue eyes. Ginny wondered if the color would change as they so often did with babies or if they would remain the same. With his hair already showing a similar shade to his father’s, she knew it would be a painful reminder to them all of the man who was no longer with them but that wasn’t something she and, she was mostly sure, the child’s mother would hold against him.

“Ginny.” Harry’s whisper broke the heavy silence of the room. She looked up from her contemplation of the child. Harry was easing himself off the bed, careful to not disturb his dear friend as he laid her back on her pillows. The woman had fallen asleep, exhausted emotionally and physically. Ginny moved towards her, swaying her walk so the baby wouldn’t be disturbed. She bent down gently and touched the baby’s soft cheek to his mother’s tearstained one, thinking that each could take some comfort in the other. Hermione’s face relaxed a fraction, though the strains of sorrow and physical pain were evident in her features.

Ginny moved to the door that Harry held open for her and stepped out into the corridor. She could see only one Healer at the far end and faced Harry as he silently closed the door. “Harry,” she paused, hesitant to voice her concern but knowing she had to, for the sake of the life she held in her arms, “do you think she’ll be all right eventually? That look in her eyes…” Ginny trailed off, knowing he would understand.

He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose before moving up to absently rub at the scar on his forehead; a gesture, Ginny knew, he did only when he was most worried, a habit from another lifetime. “Honestly, Gin, I don’t know.” He dropped his hand and faced the door behind him, the curtains closed over the window, hiding the distraught figure sleeping inside. “I really don’t know.”


	2. Him

**Chapter Two, _Him_**

Harry paused outside the door of another private room of St. Mungo’s. He wasn’t certain what exactly he was coming here for—to rage at the man or thank him. The last time Harry saw him flashed through his mind, the tall lanky unconscious form placed on a white hospital bed as Healers rushed about, a wicked gash opened up on his head, blood soaking his blond hair, the smell of burned flesh in the air. Harry suppressed a shudder at the image and knew that he wouldn’t be yelling at Draco when he walked into the room. He would save that for when the man wasn’t lying in a hospital.

He pushed the door open quietly, not wanting to disturb the patient inside in case he was sleeping. With the previous image of Draco still in his mind, Harry was startled when he saw Draco sitting on the edge of his bed, staring straight at him in the doorway. There was a white bandage around Draco’s head and his hands were similarly bound, the gray eyes were tired, surrounded by black circles. 

The two men locked eyes, each not sure what the other would do next. It had been a number of years since either had seen each other. After the war, Draco had finished his education with a private tutor, his parents pulling completely out of wizarding society and retiring to their country estate in Cornwall. Harry had gone back to Hogwarts with his friends and graduated there. 

Harry had heard some pieces of news of Draco from acquaintances and had seen an article or two in the papers. Draco had become something of a playboy to the British witches and wizards and his exploits and wildness had been almost lovingly tracked by the female portion. Harry had also heard of Draco becoming well known in the muggle world. He couldn’t recall exactly what it was or even how a Pureblood of Draco’s stature would even condescend to doing so.

“Have you come to finish me off?” the fair-haired man drawled, his usual contempt for the Boy Who Lived half-hearted, the weariness of his tone evident. He watched warily as Harry made his way to where he sat, dragging a chair so that he could sit facing him.

“No,” Harry replied simply, sober eyes looking at him through his spectacles. Draco wondered absently why the man hadn’t gotten contacts by now, trying to distract himself from the pain lancing through him.

Merlin, when he had sat up, the pain that ran through his body was enough to make him double over. He had heard someone outside his door just as he was about to lay back down. But when the door had opened to reveal Harry Potter, there was no way in hell that Draco was going to be caught flat on his back by him, of all people. And so he had stayed sitting up, muscles clenched against the throbbing. It was immature considering the circumstances that had ended up with him in the hospital but at this point, he didn’t care.

“I came here to ask you about something.” Harry leaned forward in his chair, intent on getting some questions answered.

Draco knew what he wanted to ask about and he wasn’t ready to talk about it. His head pulsed. The events of the night before flashed through his mind. Remorse flooded him as he recalled how the fun of the evening turned suddenly to horror. 

He had followed Blaise in his car after Blaise had stormed out of the party they’d been at. Blaise was very drunk and Draco had been unable to stop his friend before he’d driven off, so Draco had followed him, hoping he could get him to somehow pull over. Draco had cursed himself for leaving his wand at home.

While he would never admit this to the man who now sat in front of him, he had been terrified as he saw the car in front of him swerve suddenly into the opposite lane and crash straight into an oncoming car, the sound of metal ripping into metal causing ripples of fear in him. The images came one over the other now, unbidden, but unstoppable.

_Faster than he could blink, the two cars swung over in his direction, tires squealing, a woman’s scream cutting into him. Though he tried, he was unable to take full control of his car to move it out of the way. The initial impact was blank in his mind, all he could recall was the sensation of being thrown and a hard landing that knocked him out._

_He woke up some feet away from the cars, flames already starting to lick at the ruined hulks. It had probably only been some seconds that he had been out. He had a hard time focusing, but he knew that he had to get up, if anyone was trapped in those cars, he needed to help them. The burning sensation ripped through his head as he struggled to his feet, like a hot sword splitting open his head. He staggered to the accident._

_He stopped at his friend’s car first, swallowing down the bile that rushed to his throat upon witnessing the windshield wiper that had gone through Blaise’s head. He stumbled away from the grotesque figure and made his way as quickly as he could to the other car, the smell of blood and gasoline and fear latching onto him, filling his lungs. He probably had only another minute before an explosion happened or he collapsed into unconsciousness._

_He bent down near the overturned car and was shocked to recognize the people inside—Ron and Hermione. He reached for Hermione first, once again cursing the lack of a wand. His hands encountered her swollen and very pregnant belly in trying to get her unbelted and that fear that had been riding him since the first initial minutes of this nightmare turned into full-blown panic. He got her out of the car as fast as possible, ignoring the pain that slashed through his hands as the temperature of the metals increased. He struggled to bring the unconscious woman as far away from the cars as he could before heading back to her car to get Ron. The warmth of the spring air was swallowed up in the growing heat from the flames. Just before he could reach the cars again, he heard a soft sound of release and was thrown back by an explosion as the cars were consumed by eager flames._

_Draco landed near where he’d left Hermione. He turned to check on her, her head turned to the side, dark hair spread out around her, one hand resting on her stomach. His eyes fell on the wand slipping out of her coat and he reached for it. Using the last of his strength, Draco sent a flare up, no longer caring if it was Muggles or wizards who found them, just so long as help came._

Draco had woken up in the bed he was currently sitting on. In the quiet of his room, he’d examined his bandaged hands and tried to flex them, only to have needles of pain shoot up his arms which seemed to cause a chain reaction in his body, setting off his other injuries; his head throbbed painfully, in tempo to his rapidly beating heart. 

He realized he hadn’t said anything since Harry’s statement, several moments having passed in silence. Draco glanced at him. Harry was still in the position of intense interest. While Draco didn’t want to tell the whole story, there were several things that he wanted to ask the man, as he had been insensible for the past however many hours. He knew he would have to tell Harry something.

“Who survived the accident?” His voice was rough, hollow. He already knew that his best mate hadn’t survived and was sure that Ron Weasley hadn’t either but he didn’t know about Hermione and he didn’t want to ask Harry outright either. 

He wasn’t sure where this concern had come from but when he had realized she was pregnant and that he may have been responsible for her death or the death of her baby, something inside him had completely shifted. It was like opening your eyes and finally realizing you were standing on the edge of a cliff and that if you kept moving in the direction you were, you were going to die. His life up until then had been just focused on him and his family and coming out on top and while that had sometimes backfired, the philosophy had served him just fine. But here he was, actually caring about what happened to someone else outside his immediate circle. 

It scared the shit out of him.


	3. At the Edge

“Why do you care?” Harry knew his words were rude, born out of old habits that died hard. 

The fairer man flinched at the harsh tone. Draco knew it was nothing less than deserved, he had never been more than bare acquaintances with people of Harry’s kind, the kind that looked out for the people around them, the sort of people who sacrificed their desires for the needs of others. 

But this had become important to him, somehow, that Hermione and her child survived. She was one of _those_ people and, Draco knew from intimate experience, that there were not enough of them in existence. He already had the burden, the responsibility, of Blaise and Ron’s deaths, he would rather not add that of hers and the unborn baby. 

He took a deep breath and raised his eyes to meet the wary gaze of Harry’s, knowing full well that the other man was thinking of the Malfoy family’s continued betrayal to the Dark side, of Draco’s own part in the Final War. There was no trust between them, nothing to give Harry or Draco the reassurance they so badly needed. His voice came out low and fierce. “Because I do not _want_ her or her baby to be dead. I bloody well took the time to save her so I think that gives me a right to know if she survived.”

Harry was unfazed by the vehemence in Draco’s tone, his skin thickened from his years as an Auror. The green eyes steadily looked at the injured man, taking in the shallow, labored breaths through the thin hospital gown, the whiteness of his already pale face and the slight tremors running through the lanky frame and Harry realized that Draco was fighting back physical pain. “For God’s sake, Draco, you can lie down!” Harry exclaimed exasperatedly, putting out a hand to gently guide him into a lying position.

Draco swung his arm up, fighting him off. “Don’t! Just fucking tell me!” 

Harry sat back in his chair, surprised, despite himself. The man was serious. “Okay. She’s alive. And so’s the baby, her son.”

Draco’s tense shoulders relaxed just a little bit, as if a burden had been lifted for a moment. He gingerly moved to lay back on his bed, not caring that Harry would see him in such a weak position. The fact that Hermione and her son had survived seemed to be the only truly important thing right now. He wasn’t going to analyze it just yet, but he at least felt that he could finally get some rest. He closed his eyes.

“Draco.” Harry’s voice cut through his sudden drowsiness. His eyes opened to meet Harry’s stare and remembered that Harry had wanted to know what happened. He also recalled that Harry was the Head Auror, and probably the next Minister as well. Not knowing what the consequences of his actions of the night before could be and not wanting to find out just yet, he decided to play on the Savior-of-the-Wizarding-World’s compassion.

“I’ll tell you this, it was my best mate, Blaise, who hit the Weasleys’ car and he died instantly it seemed. I’m sure you’ve had your Aurors all over the scene of the accident and will find what data you find.” He let a grimace escape him, not really needing to fake it due to the hammer that had started to bang its way through his brain. “But Harry, I’ve just had a near death experience and want to get some rest before my head splits open.”

Through his barely open eyes, he saw Harry’s stern look soften. “Of course. I’ll leave you for now. The Healer says you should be fine by tomorrow. Please come see me at my office, say one o’clock?”

Draco nodded and shut his eyes fully, turning his head away. He heard Harry get up and leave the room. His eyes opened to take in the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the window and thought about fear and death, changes and crossroads and a pair of dark brown eyes, washed in pain and grief.

*.*

She took refuge in the darkness, in the nothingness and the void. There was a blankness inside of her, an empty space that could never be filled. Where once she had passion for the world around her, love for her friends and family, a driving purpose to make the world a better place through her every action, there was emptiness. She didn’t want to remember. She did not want to feel. And most of all, she did not want to live. She willed herself to expire, to simply _not be_.

She knew they were worried about her. Their gazes filled with concern, their whispers out of sight but still there. Worried smiles turned her way, soothing voices filling her ears. But still she did not care.

She knew there was the baby, a life just begun. But she couldn’t look at him, could not bear to be near him, for when she was, she remembered. She felt pain. Pain so great it threatened to consume her from the inside out, slowly working its way through her until it escaped the confines of her skin to explode out to those around her. 

And so she stayed away, locked up in the prison of her own making. She had remained in the hospital for only a few more days before she was released for bed rest at home. She supposed she should be grateful to Harry and Ginny for bringing her to her parents’ home, instead of the other place, the home she had made with—

Her mind shied away from the thought, already knowing that to brush up against it would bring about unending anguish. She kept to the deadness that filled her. 

A pitiful cry seeped in through the cracks of her bedroom door, wanting comfort and love from his mother. For a space of a heartbeat, she thought about getting up to answer it. Then she shut her eyes to the outside world and welcomed oblivion.


	4. In the Middle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco was amused by the reactions he caused as he moved through the Ministry hallways leading to Harry's office.

Draco was amused by the reactions he caused as he moved through the Ministry hallways leading to Harry's office. The witches and wizards he came across all paused at the sight of him, shocked, not by his scars—the head wound having healed to a jagged scar across his eyebrow—but by his very presence. It wasn't even an assumption that was off base or conceited.

It had been years since he had had to come to the Ministry and the last time he had been here, he had been on trial for his crimes in aiding and abetting the Dark Lord. He had been young, just of age, and completely shaken of his principles. Here he truly learned that life was just a matter of looking out for his own interests, and that anything else hindered his survival. He hated that he felt apprehensive and uncomfortable being here, as if he, whose bloodlines dated back to the most ancient of wizards, did not belong here.

Turning the corner, he came to the waiting area for the Head Auror. Solid black oak doors faced him, Harry's name and title clearly seen on the gold plate affixed to them. There were two black waiting chairs and a coffee table, again in black oak, to his left and to his right, just to the side of the doors was Harry's secretary. Draco's eyebrows rose a little as he took in the sweet profile of the blonde as she reached into her desk for something. Well, at least he had something, or actually, _someone_ to divert his attention.

"Hello," he greeted her as he moved up to and around her desk, laying a hand just next to hers which was placed on the desktop. She had straightened as he'd come near and was now looking up at him with wide blue eyes, her pretty mouth forming a small "o" of surprise. A corner of his mouth lifted up into, what he knew to be, a seductive smile.

Her voice was soft, "Oh! You're—"

"Draco Malfoy," he finished for her, watching as her eyes looked at him with interest. He lifted his hand to take hers from the table when the cool voice of Harry broke in.

"Not now, Malfoy." Draco turned to find Harry standing in his open doorway, looking not at all amused by the scene before him. Harry caught Draco's gaze and wordlessly took a step back into his office, indicating for him to come in.

Draco looked back at the secretary with a smiling glance and followed the Head Auror through the doorway. "Does your wife know that you've got a looker as your secretary?" he asked, mainly to aggravate the man.

"Shut it."

Draco pretended to misunderstand the retort and made a show of walking back and closing the office door. Harry reined in his annoyance and sat down behind his desk, gesturing for Draco to take a seat in one of the leather armchairs facing him. The office was medium in size, not something one would expect of a prominent official but something one could expect of Harry, well-known for his modesty and refusal to be treated like a celebrity.

Once seated, the leather creaking under him, Draco felt his earlier anxiety come back. Annoyed with himself, he forced his tense muscles to relax. He wasn't being interrogated by the Wizengamot. Just by his childhood enemy.

Harry pulled a thin manila folder closer to him, opened it up and for the moment the only sound in the room was the rough slide of papers against each other. Draco flinched as he saw photographs of the wreckage paper-clipped to the front cover. Those must've been taken only an hour or two after the accident, as it was still dark outside in the picture, with just enough moonlight to see figures moving over the scene. One pair in particular caught his eye; these two worked on pulling a body out of the smoking cars. Draco couldn't see who it was: Ron or Blaise. Unable to continue looking, his eyes wandered up to the magicked window that took up the wall behind Harry. Gray sunlight filtered in, mirroring the skies aboveground.

Harry glanced over the documentation of the accident, not really seeing them as he had been over them many times since he had received the file a few hours ago. He took the time to size up the lean man before him surreptitiously. He now saw what Draco's irritating actions had meant to hide. He could see that the former Death Eater was not comfortable, here in this place, where the once-proud Malfoy name had been made synonymous with "traitor" and "coward".

Harry had gone to the Malfoys' trial, one of the rare times that he had used his own name as an influence because, in the end, the Malfoys had helped defeat Voldemort, even if it had almost been too late. While Harry had been able to provide testimony of their help, he had been unable to prevent the sly jabs and outright jeers that had been thrown at the family during the days of their trial. Harry watched as the Malfoys had pulled in on themselves, closed themselves off as their own people turned on them. It seemed that they, or perhaps just Draco, had overcome wizard society's opinions to the point where he was generally accepted by them, if only to have someone to gossip about.

Harry closed the file and took his glasses off his nose, setting them aside after giving a brief rub to the bridge of his nose. His green gaze met the cool gray of Draco's. Draco stayed silent under the more obvious scrutiny, refusing to show any discomfort, not knowing that Harry already knew and didn't care for the pretense. "Can you tell me the events leading up to the accident?"

An almost imperceptible frown appeared on Draco's face, Harry thinking the cause of it was the unpleasant task of recounting his friend's death.

"Blaise and I had been out with some other friends last night. He'd been drinking, although I hadn't realized how drunk he was until he left the party. I tried to stop him once I realized how drunk he was." Images of the night before came to him, filling in the spaces he left unsaid.

_Blaise's face was contorted in anger as he turned away from Draco sharply and headed for the front doors. "Blaise!" Draco called out, getting up from where he was sitting, stumbling after the darker man whose footsteps didn't slow a bit. Draco caught up to him just at the front doors and made a grab for Blaise's arm, trying to get him to stop so they could talk._

_The instant Draco touched him, Blaise shoved him back violently with his other arm, sending Draco to the floor. For a moment, Blaise stood over him, hate coming off of him in palpable waves. He spoke to the fallen man in a low voice, "Get the bloody hell away from me, Malfoy. I've been your friend now for what, twenty years, and this is how you fucking treat me? You leave me the fuck alone." He turned and left Draco on the floor, his head swimming with alcohol, guilt and regret._

"He got in his car and took off. I followed him in mine, and, well, you know the rest. I didn't even have my bloody wand on me." Draco swallowed down the grief he felt for his friend as well as the guilt that he felt threatening to overwhelm him. His eyes moved from the window behind Harry, which he had focused on as he recounted the incident, and now met the Head Auror's assessing gaze.

Harry waited a moment before speaking. "I guess my first question for you would be: Why were you even in cars? Purebloods such as you and Blaise…" he trailed off. The Malfoy family had been the more adamant about not mixing or fraternizing with Muggle-borns or Muggles.

A self-deprecating smirk appeared on the blond man's face. "I developed a bad habit." Harry nodded in understanding. After the trial, Lucius had spent five years in Azkaban while Draco and his mother had been suspended their wands during that same period. It had been the lightest sentences that the court had been willing to grant the Malfoys.

"What about not carrying your wand? You've had the use of it for almost four years now." Draco could see that Harry had been mulling these questions over in his mind since that case file had hit his desk.

"I just didn't have it on me." Harry's mouth opened, to get a clarification of that answer, a clarification that Draco wasn't willing to give. "I have my own personal reasons," Draco's tone was final.

Harry's mouth settled into a firm line as he looked at Draco. It was a question that logically he should pursue but his instinct told him that it wasn't relevant and perhaps more private than Harry wanted to go.

"All right then. Did you and Blaise often drink and drive?"

"No. We've only done this once or twice before, years ago." He tried not to sound defensive. His eyes slid away from Harry's to look at his hands. It was instinctual for him to fight being in the wrong, fight having to take responsibility for something. And while he wasn't willing to divulge the reason for Blaise's upset out of fear, unreasonable or not, he realized that he was going to have to start changing some things in his life, start owning up to his actions. He took a deep breath and continued, "I know it's against Muggle and wizard law for me to have driven while under the influence, but I didn't know what else to do when my friend was blazing drunk. And I wasn't so far off myself."

Harry was slightly surprised that Draco would admit some responsibility and wrongdoing. Harry had already gotten the hospital reports of alcohol in Draco's system so already knew that he had violated the laws and had expected Draco to deny it or justify it somehow. He leaned forward in his chair slightly. "Thank you for telling me," his voice polite. Draco glanced at Harry whose expression was sincere.

"What happens now?" Draco forced himself to stay still though he wanted to _move_ , to get rid of the nervous energy he could feel flowing through him.

Harry wrote something out on a piece of parchment and slid it across the desk to Draco who took it warily. It was a date and time: _May 22, 10:30am_. "What's this?"

"Your court date," Harry answered, matter-of-factly. Draco winced involuntarily and Harry stifled the vindictive pleasure that dark part of him took in the man's reaction. It had a long time since they had been pitted against each other, simply because of circumstance. Almost feeling like he had to prove to himself he really wasn't out to get Draco, he spoke to assure the other man, "It's not in front of an entire Wizengamot tribunal, Draco. It'll just be one of the wizard judges."

Draco gave a slight nod and stood up from the chair. Harry followed suit, walking around his desk to shake Draco's hand. He looked into Draco's eyes, wanting him to know that he was genuine in what he was going to say. "I haven't thanked you yet for saving Hermione and her baby. We haven't been on the best of terms but I wanted to let you know that if you need help on anything, you can come to me. You kept your head in an extremely dangerous situation and they are alive because of you. Thank you." Harry's voice was low and he struggled to hold back his sorrow and instead focus on the fact that he still had Hermione as well as Ron's son living when he could have had no one.

Draco was stunned. He held Harry's gaze for another moment before swallowing the sudden lump in his throat. With another nod, he left the office, feeling as if his mind was moving at high speed while being stagnant at the same time. Things were changing for him and he wasn't sure if it was a good thing or not. Stepping out into the courtyard, he made his way to the Floo stations. There was someone he needed to see: Blaise's fiancée, Sybil Graham.

Stepping out of the portal at Sybil's address, he found her crumpled on her couch crying. The curtains were drawn so that the room seemed gloomy, the air felt heavy. Was it grief? Regret? Guilt? He wasn't sure.

She looked up at his footsteps, her blue eyes glassy before recognition entered. Slowly she stood to face him as he moved to where she was. They looked at each other for a moment and then her arms were around his neck, his own arms going around her automatically. "Oh, Draco," she breathed and kissed him.


	5. The Baby

**Chapter Five**

Draco didn’t react at first, surprised that she would do this now of all times, and then his hands came up and pulled her thin wrists from around his neck, pushing her away from him slightly. He really looked at her then. Yes, her long-lashed eyes held tears in them and now held uncertainty. He also thought he saw annoyance. At him? For what? Not snogging her when his best mate that she had been engaged to had just died in an accident that they were very much the cause of?

Anger swept through him, an emotion Draco welcomed as it was familiar, one that he could handle, unlike the feelings of anguish and guilt. He set her away from him more fully and took a step back, letting go of her wrists. Her hands came up to wipe away the tears that had fallen in the moment he had refused her kiss.

He watched her silently, his own hands finding their way to his pockets. When she was finished, he spoke, quietly yet heatedly, “He found out. Before he crashed his car, he found out. He died angry and betrayed and probably feeling very alone in this world, Sybil.” He nearly choked on her name. Merlin, his throat felt like it was closing, his eyes were burning and he wanted to punch a hole through the wall and break things, cause himself pain, just to do _something_ to start his penance.

Her bright wide eyes held his gaze, her face frozen. He couldn’t read her expression clearly. Was she feeling the same regret, the shame? She swallowed, her hand coming up in front of her, reaching for him. “Draco,” she whispered.

Ignoring her hand, he turned away from her to look at the mirror above her fireplace, seeing their reflections in it. She dropped her hand and bowed her head, fine blonde strands covering her face, shielding herself from his gaze. He met his own eyes in the mirror. That gash through his right eyebrow gave him a perpetual glare, his mouth was drawn into a pained frown. They were only a few footsteps apart and yet Draco felt they were on completely different continents.

“I’m not going to see you anymore.” The words were out of his mouth before he actually realized he was saying them. He hadn’t made that decision on his way over but just looking at her and seeing that her tears weren’t just for Blaise’s death but for her loss of a secure future, he was disgusted. With her and with himself. She had been the only woman Blaise had come close to committing himself forever to. Then Draco had come along and there had been that spark between them that he had tried to ignore until one drunken night when Blaise was out of town. Even then, it was only supposed to be one night, not the three months it had turned into.

He couldn’t believe that he hadn’t really thought of how this would have affected Blaise, that if they were ever found out, he would be losing someone who he’d grown up with, who he had fought battles with, who had stood by his side when the rest of the wizarding world had spat on him, who had been there through every high and low of his life. Oh, he had touched upon the consequences and brushed them aside, telling himself he would stop soon and that Blaise would never have to know. His eyes shut in pain, his face drawn tight. Bloody hell, he was the scum of the universe.

He heard her suppressed sobs and turned slowly to face her. She had one arm wrapped around her middle, trying to giver herself the comfort he refused, her other hand continuing to wipe the tears that fell. He hated it when she cried, when anyone cried. He never knew what to do. “Draco—” she got out between gasps, her eyes opening to look into his, “I—I can’t lose you, too.”

The liquid hot anger was back. She didn’t get it. “You ‘lost’ me the moment I saw the hurt and betrayal in my best friend’s eyes, when he drove himself into another car, killing not only himself but another man who will never meet his child and who his widow will now have to raise alone.”

He ignored her flinch at the hard edge of his anger. Feeling dirty and ashamed, he left her standing there, tears running down her face.

 

 

He didn’t actually know what he was doing, standing on this doorstep, waiting for someone to answer the door. He definitely didn’t belong here.

After several days of sitting in his flat, staring at the walls and steeping himself in misery and suffering, he had realized that despite his degraded existence, it wasn’t too late for him to change, to try to live, even if he spent the rest of it in atonement for his sins. There were some people he needed to see.

Draco’s first stop had been to his parents. His mother had been trying to reach him since the day after the accident, having been informed of it via _The Daily Prophet_ and not even by her own son, as she stated in one particular owl message. He had only replied to one of her notes and chosen to ignore all other attempts to reach him, not able to face other people, knowing the type of man he had become. A man so selfish that he took what he wanted without regard for others and the possible outcomes, even if it meant others’ lives. A man who betrayed his friends for a moment’s fun. Without Draco really being aware of it, he had become someone that he did not like, someone he could even hate.

Narcissa had been teary-eyed when she had seen his face: paler than usual, the dark circles under his eyes starting to become a permanent feature and the scar through his eyebrow nearly healed, the only evidence a bare line of skin cutting through the end of the blond eyebrow, almost invisible. She had wordlessly enveloped him in a rare hug which he had returned, feeling a little better about himself, just because.

After assuring her of his well-being—physically, at least—he had Apparated to the Zabini family mansion. He wasn’t close to Blaise’s mother, she being more of the general mindset that to be near a Malfoy was ill-luck, but he felt he owed it to his friend to at least see that she was told by someone who had been close to him. Never mind how they had parted. This feeling of responsibility and accountability was new to him and he was still pondering if it was something to be applauded or gotten rid of as fast as possible.

Indira Zabini had not been welcoming at all.

“I knew you would be the death of him,” she had hissed at him as he stood at her front door, her large but elegant frame blocking entry to her home. Her dark eyes were filled with loathing, shiny with unshed tears. “I told him time and time again that no good would come out of being friends with a Malfoy. Traitors the lot of you are. Traitors!” The last shouted at him before she had slammed the door unceremoniously in his face.

It had hurt. Draco had been a little surprised at that, thinking that he had inured himself against such prejudices during the years following the end of the war. After he and his mother had had their wands suspended, they had only been able to stay in London for a week or two before the closed doors and unfriendly attitude of old friends drove them out to Cornwall where they had lived an almost Muggle life. Something which Draco had greatly resented that first year.

Shrugging it off, as he had done all those years ago, he’d pushed that pain deep inside him, where the rest of his hurt and insecurities had gone, leaking out only in those infrequent vulnerable times.

Needing something to bolster himself, he’d stopped in at a shop in Diagon Alley and ordered some chips. He’d sat in the outside eating area, thinking of nothing but the salt and crunchiness of his snack and feeling the last of winter’s chills sweep through the winding streets, the sun making a meager attempt to warm him when he’d been struck by a sudden urge to check on Hermione and her baby. He’d felt relief upon Harry telling him that they were alive but he felt like he needed to see for himself. His last memory of her was when she was lying on that road unconscious.

Finishing up his chips, he made his way to St. Mungo’s to see Hermione, only to find that she had been checked out just the day before and was now at her parents’ home. Recognizing Draco and having heard the stories surrounding his rescue of Hermione Weasley, the MediWitch had leaned in to confide that the poor girl had seemed completely heartbroken, refusing to even see her own son, the baby reminding her too much of who she’d lost. This had caused a strange reaction in Draco, having known what it was like to grow up with bare affection from his parents.

He’d gotten the address of where Hermione had been released to—the public opinion of him seeming to have risen with the tale of his bravery—and now he was standing on the clean doorstep of Hermione’s family home on a quiet Muggle street. He’d rung the doorbell, tentatively, and waited, suppressing the impulse to shift from foot to foot.

After several minutes passed without response, he brought his hand up to ring the bell again and lost his nerve. Sighing to himself, he turned away just as the door opened. Turning quickly back, he met the surprised eyes of Ginny Potter.

He nervously took off his hat and subtly worried the brim as he greeted her. “Hello, there, Ginny,” he paused, hoping to gauge her reaction to his presence but other than her surprised look earlier, her face was impassive, waiting for him to continue. “I was in the area of St. Mungo’s and I’d gone to check on Hermione, to see how she was, and the MediWitch told me that she’d been released and she gave me the address so I came here. To check on her,” he finished lamely.

For a moment, all the redhead did was look at him and then she nodded and stepped aside, leading him in to a comfortably furnished living room. “If you could wait here, I’ll go see if she’s up to—available to see you.” Her eyes met his briefly, a searching look that Draco met head on. He’d caught the slip of her tongue and it struck him how it saddened him that a girl who had been such a force to deal with in their younger days was in such a condition.

He took his jacket off and took a seat on the sofa as Ginny walked out of the room. He sat there a moment, staring at his hands, feeling a bit intrusive. Frustrated with himself, with the turbulent emotions and thoughts he’d been dealing with since the accident, he stood up to pace around the room, trying to keep himself from thinking too much. Looking around, he saw many pictures of Hermione growing up from childhood and into adulthood. Another quick glance over the photos brought to his attention that there were no pictures of Ron.

Ginny came back, looking sad and weary. “Now is not a good time,” she said, shaking her head.

Draco nodded and bent down to pick up his jacket and hat off the armchair and started to move to the door when a sudden thought occurred to him. He paused. Ginny was watching him, curious. Hesitantly, knowing he had no real reason other than the fact that it had suddenly become important to him, he asked, “Could I—would I be able to see the child?”

Her eyes widened. He could see that he had again surprised her. He hurried to somehow make his request more valid, because now that he had voiced his concern, he felt he _had_ to see the baby, as if this was the key to assuage some of the guilt and pressure on his chest. “You see, I’d heard that Hermione had had her baby after the accident and I would just like to see for myself that the child lived, you know, so that I know someone survived the accident. Besides me,” he trailed off quietly, looking away, trying to hide his urgency.

There was a short silence, then: “All right. But just for a minute.” The relief he felt seemed unexplainable but he couldn’t help notice that there was a sudden lightness around him, like there would be absolution for him if he could just see that the baby was alive and well. She led him from the living room into a hallway that had several open doors and one that was completely shut. Instinctively Draco knew that that was Hermione’s room. Ginny paused outside of it before turning to the opposite partially open door and gently pushed it open, gesturing Draco ahead of her.

Slowly he walked in, taking in the painted walls: a light blue with colorful balloons edging the borders and the soft light that bathed the white-washed furniture. The main point of interest of course was the crib in the center where Draco could just make out soft gargling and snuffling sounds. Just as he was approaching it, the baby let out a small cry, one that was pitiful and lonely and tore at his insides. Ginny, strangely enough, hung back at the doorway, somehow knowing that this was a moment that should just belong to Draco.

Draco knew what it felt like to be unheard and unloved, that space in his heart where a mother’s love should be, largely unfulfilled in his childhood. He came into view of the baby boy whose small face was scrunched up in distress, his small fists opening and closing in front of him reaching for someone who wasn’t coming. Whatever had grabbed hold of him inside, tightened once more.

“Hey,” Draco whispered, his voice gentler than he had ever heard it. Without thinking about it, he reached a hand into the crib to touch one of those small hands. Abruptly the baby’s cries stopped and his large eyes opened, the clear blue capturing Draco the instant he saw them. The little hand opened up and made a grab for Draco’s finger.

And, for perhaps the first time in his life, Draco fell in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Author's Note: I'd like to thank all those amazing people who have reviewed this story so far! I know I already think you in reply but it really does help and inspire me to keep going with this story when you've reviewed it with your honest opinion (even the people I ask to review it!) :)_


	6. A Funeral & a Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _There were no words to express his sorrow and guilt. What could one say to a man he had killed?_  

**Chapter Six, _A Funeral and a Visitor_**

He kept coming back. After that first day, when a sad and guilty man had reached into a cradle and made a connection with just one finger and one small hand, he could not seem to stay away. He showed up on the doorstep the next day and again a few days after that, just to see the child and sit with him. It became an almost daily visit after that. He never stayed for more than a half-hour but it seemed necessary for him, and—this convinced Ginny the most to let him keep coming back—it seemed necessary to the baby.

Ginny, trying to help her friend’s parents, juggle work, her own life and family as well as the new baby, had at first balked at Draco’s presence; the anger and hurt of yesterday creating walls and barriers in the now. But he had seemed earnest and Ginny had a feeling about him, that she could believe him in this. Him being around the baby and helping take care of the newborn was a tacit agreement, not really spoken of, mainly due to the fact that it was a bit surreal to Ginny that Draco Malfoy, of all people, would be entering a Muggleborn’s house and playing domestic.

Hermione’s parents accepted him because Ginny accepted him, knowing only that he was another wizard, not necessarily knowing that there was any bad history between them. Draco had been polite enough to them, something which Ginny had noted with relief.

He never spoke more than a few words to her, comfortable to just sit there and watch the baby, hold him if he cried, keep him amused for a time.

“What’s his name?” Draco had whispered, cradling the baby awkwardly in his arms that first day. Ginny had watched them, quietly astonished by the way they were taken with each other. The baby’s blue eyes had been closed in contentment with a smile so sweet that it had squeezed at Ginny’s heart. Draco’s long fingers had cradled the ginger head carefully, following her instructions to not let the baby’s head loll.

Her smile had been bittersweet as she’d answered him. “He doesn’t have an official name, yet.” Draco’s eyes had met hers, clearly surprised. Not even knowing why, she had further clarified her statement, “She didn’t name him after he was born.” There had been no need to specify who, they both knew she spoke of the woman behind the closed door, the one who hadn’t seen or touched her son since leaving the hospital. “With her feeling…unwell, we haven’t been able to ask her about it. We’ve taken to calling him ‘Jack’, it’s one of the names they’d thought of before—” she had cut herself off, blinking back the sudden tears in her eyes.

Draco’s eyes had been unreadable as he took in this information, then he’d looked back down at the baby. “Hello, Jack,” he had greeted the baby softly. Ginny had taken note of his expression and filed it away to analyze later.

Harry found her in the kitchen a few days before Ron’s service was to be held. She sensed his silent presence in the doorway as she finished cleaning up after dinner, her wand moving this way and that with a Molly-esque competence. She waited for him to speak, knowing he was still weighing his words.

Once the last plate had landed in the cabinet, she turned to face him, taking him in as he leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, eyes tired. He finally spoke, “Can you tell me why Draco Malfoy visits Jack nearly every day?”

His voice wasn’t mad or upset. In fact he sounded mildly interested, but Ginny, knowing her husband well, could see that he didn’t like it one bit. She understood this reaction but she also understood that Harry hadn’t yet seen Draco with the baby. He hadn’t seen Draco’s tight features soften as he looked at the baby, the careful and gentle way that Draco handled Jack nor had he witnessed Jack’s obvious affection for the blond man.

She wasn’t quite sure how to communicate this to Harry so said nothing. Harry continued after a moment, “The man may have saved Hermione and therefore Jack but he’s still the man who let Death Eaters into Hogwarts, turning our safe haven into a nightmare castle. He’s the man who stood by and watched his sadistic aunt torture a young girl: Hermione herself!” His voice rose a little at this, that night at the Malfoy Manor still imprinted in his mind as a night of terror and loss.

Ginny stayed near the kitchen counter, letting him vent. She knew it wasn’t just Draco he was upset about. His grief over his best friend’s death, his fear of Hermione never being able to face her loss, his pity for the baby who was so much like an orphan already; all of it was coming together and spilling over and he was finding it easier to be mad, to target the outsider, the one who didn’t belong.

Harry stared at her, her blue eyes calmly meeting his though she could feel tears at the back of her throat, shining through her eyes. Knowing she had seen through him, his hard expression dropped, revealing the pain he kept bottled up as he made it through each day. Both stepped forward, choked sobs coming from Ginny’s chest as his familiar arms came around her, sharing her sorrow.

 

 

 

A week after the accident, Blaise’s funeral was held. Draco was pointedly not invited. He went though, standing at the edge of the cemetery, silently watching the service. Indira and Sybil sat in the front row; Blaise’s mother clearly heartbroken, unable to lift her face from her handkerchief at all while Sybil had sat there quietly, hands tightly clasped in her lap, her beautiful face seemingly set in marble. He knew that she was in pain but how much of that was actually for Blaise and how much of that was just for herself, he wouldn’t be able to say.

After everyone was gone and all that was left was the dark gray sky and the bare patch of freshly turned earth, he approached the grave. There were no words to express his sorrow and guilt. What could one say to a man he had killed?

He stood in front of his friend’s last resting place, the toes of his shoes just brushing the edge of the shifted dirt. The day was one of those days when the season was not sure if it was still winter or if it was spring, the clouds covered the sky, making their onerous way to the north, helped along by a chilly breeze. He had his coat on but the cold that had crept over him since after the accident and only went away when he was with Jack, kept its icy hands on him, searching and reaching deep into him, making him regret every day that it was he that had lived, and not the man whose gravestone he was staring at now.

He may have stood there for a minute or it may have been an hour. His mind refusing to provide the words he needed to say: the apologies, the excuses, the reasons why, the regrets, the good times or even that last good-bye. His face felt oddly set, like it was encased in ice and if he moved any part of it, the façade would crack and he would fall apart.

Only when the clouds had darkened and the shadows had lengthened, bringing to life the misshapen and haunted figures in Draco’s mind, did he break. He fell to his knees, doubled over, his pale head falling to the dirt before him, his hands grabbing at the soil covering the coffin which held his only real friend. He was sobbing and, gods above, it _hurt_. The sounds and his breath were caught in his chest, stuck in his throat and fighting to get out and be heard, to be released. The tears burned as they fell, salt upon the earth.

Emotions which he had been trained to keep in check, to never reveal, now broke down the paper-thin barricades he’d erected so long ago. He wept in grief and hurt, in anger and in shame, finally feeling, just _feeling_.

There were only two words he could choke out, filtering through the guilt and despair that sat in his heart. “I—I’m s—s—sor—ry.” His breath hitched, barely able to get them out, these words, the hardest words to utter.

And he knew why he never said them: there was no point. He didn’t feel forgiveness or relief; there couldn’t be any acceptance of his crimes. All he could feel was the hard earth, the dirt underneath his fingernails, the chill that swept through the open collar of his coat and the blackness, the utter hopelessness for one Draco Malfoy.

 

 

 

She found him the next night, at one of his usual clubs. After a hellish night where he’d tossed and turned and ran from the demons that tortured him, he’d gotten up just past lunch and headed straight to Rockfords, to lose himself in cards and numb himself with drink.

By dinner, he was completely sloshed and owed a couple thousand to the house. His bleary eyes could barely make out the numbers and faces of the cards in front of him as the dealer started a new round. The only other man at the table, a silent dark-faced fellow, wasn’t that far behind Draco in the alcohol department, and had recently chosen to use the lovely shoulder of one of the Rockfords’ girls as a means to keep himself propped up on his seat.

Gambling was something that Draco had stumbled upon during his wandless years and taken an instant shining to. His ability to know just how a hand would turn out, what horse would win this race or which boxer would win that fight was uncanny and seemed almost like magic to the people who’d watched him play. He’d liked hearing this, having just struggled through a year of adjusting to being regarded as second-class after his trial. His aversion to all-things-Muggle, while not fully gone, had toned down a bit—having to live life the way they did—especially when he had a pint in hand at the Friday night pub.

It was on one of these nights that he had discovered this talent that had nothing to do with his Pureblood status or his wizard genes, but just what _he_ brought to the game. He’d watched over the shoulder of one of a few men who had gathered around a scarred and much used table in a smoky corner of the pub to play an impromptu round of poker. He’d caught on quickly to the rules and had guided the man to victory again and again. The man had hugged Draco in drunken and triumphant glee and pronounced them the best of friends.

Mikael Adrach had turned out to be a professional gambler. He’d taken Draco under his wing and taught him gambling and in turn Draco had helped the older man out in boosting his own career. Draco had traveled with him for a year, gaining slight fame for his streak of luck and animosity from sore losers. Despite the fact that Mikael wasn’t a wizard, Draco found that he could like him, to a degree. The man was brash, taken with his drink and reckless as a result.

It was on one of his trips when he had met her, Jemima, the only woman whom he had come close to loving or at least admitting that he loved her.

The same woman who now found him just was he was falling asleep at the game table. Her soft warm hand settled on his shoulder and shook him awake. His eyes already felt crusted and there seemed to be a layer of oil upon his view of the world. He should’ve been shocked at Jemima’s appearance, having been thrown out of her home over seven years ago, her angry shouts still echoing in his nightmares. But he couldn’t seem to get the right emotions together. In fact, all he could really feel was a giddy rush of pleasure at having her near him again.

Her blonde hair fell gracefully about her shoulders as she shook her head at him, probably disappointed that he was so bleeding pissed. He stood up quickly, attempting to gain some semblance of dignity but only ended up almost falling over, stopped only by her arms coming around him. And then, feeling that it was out of his control, his lips ended up on hers and his hands landed at the small of her back. He might have pulled back after one kiss but her mouth opened under his and even if he was about ten scotches past being drunk, he knew an invitation when it was given.

In the haze of desire and lust, they made it to a room that Draco usually stayed in if he was pulling an all-nighter at the club. Not even bothering with the lights, his hands were pulling up her skirt while hers were busy getting under his shirt. They fell on the bed in a tangle of arms, legs and tongue. Given his inebriated state and her eager mouth and hands, Draco wasn’t about to wait for the nicety of full skin on skin. Once he had her pressed up against him, he moaned at the feel of her, Jemima, who’d rejected him but who he had missed so much. Her head pushed back against the covers, moving back and forth in mindless passion. He wished it wasn’t so dark so he could see her face but he settled for her touch and the taste of her skin as his thirst for her was fulfilled. She reached out to him and he to her as they were once more together after so long a separation.

Afterwards, when their breathing had slowed and the world had stopped spinning, he moved to her side, lazily pulling off the rest of his clothes, helping her get under the blankets of the bed. He went to sleep, his arm curled around her waist.

He dreamed of the last happy time he’d had with her. They had been out at dinner, her face glowing in the candle light as he’d told her a story of Mikael and his antics. She’d been so beautiful, head thrown back in laughter and Draco had felt something, something that he’d been afraid to look at, the thought of it so foreign to him.

The dream shifted abruptly to the last time he had ever seen her. Her face contorted in anger and terror as she threw whatever she could reach near her. Screaming at him to _get out_ and to _never go near me again_ and that he was _a monster_. The door was shut in his face and he turned and met the glowing eyes of his worst nightmare.

He woke up suddenly, a startled gasp issuing from his lips, feeling completely sober. The room seemed to sharp to him, as if the colors and the shadows were in complete contrast. The early dawn light filtered in, attempting to soften the edges. His heart still racing and his breath a little short, he looked over at Jemima to make sure he hadn’t woken her.

And he felt a punch to his stomach. _Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no, no!_ Feeling sick, he moved out of the bed as quietly and as quickly as he could, gathering up the trousers and shirt that had been thrown away in abandon. Putting them on while also trying to get into his shoes, he left the room, trying to close the door without waking the woman sleeping in the bed.

Sybil’s eyes opened as she heard the sound of the door clicking shut.


	7. Breathing

She could breathe. With the morning still gray, the world not quite awake, it was the first thing she noticed when she opened her eyes. The air moved into her lungs easily, the weight that had been sitting on her for so many weeks gone. She lay there for awhile, breathing in and breathing out, getting familiar with what used to be an involuntary action that had turned into just another thing she did not want to face after—

Her breath caught, the sudden pressure around her smothering her. Her eyes squeezed shut, knowing what would come next: the pressure would build and build and she'd grit her teeth to stifle her screams until she felt like her head would implode.

But then it eased. She relaxed a fraction. There was something different about today, something old yet new existing in her mind. She latched onto it and pulled, wanting to keep this strand of strength near her, perhaps gather enough of it to wound around her, protect her from what she refused to face.

Another intake of air. A feeling, different only because it wasn't despair, sadness or grief, tingled at the back of her mind. She couldn't qualify it as good exactly but it seemed to shore her up to a small degree.

Enough to finally look at the awful tale residing at the back of her mind. She explored that dark recess in her mind tentatively. She'd been fighting, scrambling, running, hiding to avoid _it_ , to not confront _it_ , but she knew that she couldn't keep doing that forever. It just wasn't _her_ , to run away from responsibility, from life.

Ron's beloved face and ginger hair formed in her mind's eye and she choked back a sob, wetness escaping the fringes of her lashes. It was just a tear, a small drop compared to the raging river it had been over the past few weeks. Yes, the grief was still there but at least it was no longer suffocating her.

Breathing deeply once more, Hermione decided that it was time to finally look at _that_ night.

They'd been out on a date. She had thought it would likely be the last time it'd be just the two of them before the baby was born so she'd been insistent about going out for a special dinner. She'd overridden Ron's tender concerns over her delicate condition and wanting her to stay home and got him to go out with her.

 _Oh, god._ Her throat constricted and her stomach twisted, a nauseous feeling coming over her. She rolled to the side of the bed, blindly grabbing for the wastebasket just around the bed stand. She gasped into the wastebasket, dry heaving, nothing coming out to alleviate the roiling in her stomach. Her head hung over the edge of the wastebasket, long tendrils of her unwashed hair sticking to her wet cheeks.

She'd basically brought about his death. If she hadn't insisted that they go out for dinner, that they eat at that new restaurant she'd read about in the papers, Ron would be alive right now. Sobbing, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, curling into herself at the edge of the bed as guilt settled into her spirit.

She lay unmoving for some time as the sun rose higher in the sky, brave rays breaking through the darkness of her room, lighting up motes of dust. The tears had subsided, the guilt had eased a little as she'd regained a measure of control. Her brown eyes stared unseeing at the wall.

The night had been playing over and over again in her mind. She could only remember going out to dinner—

_his teeth flashes as he laughs, his large hand touching her face tenderly_

—driving home—

_"I like 'Jack' if he's a boy, don't you, 'Mione?"_

_"And what, 'Jill' if she's a girl?" His hand covers hers on his lap and he laughs at the sarcasm in her tone._

—then the world became an explosion of pain and darkness, of dying and living.

_"Where's Ron? Tell me where he is!"_

_"Hermione…he didn't make it." Harry's eyes are filled with tears but he refuses to let them fall, trying to be strong for her._

_"No!" The news hits her like an arrow to her heart and the denial is ripped out of her on a wail Her hands fist and she's fighting the truth of Harry's simple statement. His own hands capture her arms gently and he pulls her to him. She sobs into his shirt, the same word repeated over and over. "No. No, no."_

Then she'd held her son in her arms—their son. And she'd loved him. Despite the fact that her heart had been completely shattered, there was a fragment of it that had glowed as she'd looked into the baby's small face. But that small glow hadn't been enough to counteract the pain that had sliced through her when his little eyes had opened and the clear blue of Ron's own eyes had flashed before her.

She hadn't been able to face the baby since, fearing that she would be driven into madness if she had to be reminded continuously of who she'd lost. Ron Weasley had been her mate, her love, her best friend for over half her life. How was she to cope with that?

Guilt settled into her bones once more. She knew it was no excuse. Her treatment of her own child had been abominable. She didn't know really how he was being taken care of, who was looking after him, _bloody hell_ , what they were even calling him! Slowly she sat up, the world shifting a little for her, settling into a better angle.

How many days had she been like this? Selfish, so fucking selfish she'd been acting. She brought her feet to the floor carefully, testing her weight before standing up fully. She stood still for a moment, waiting for the spinning to stop. Mad at herself, the remorse drumming at the back of her mind, she pulled on a dressing gown, determined to do right by her child.

In the hours she'd been laying there, when she'd finally calmed down enough to think a little logically, she knew that Ron wouldn't blame her for his death. God, she missed him, but that didn't mean it would make up for the fact that their baby hadn't had his mother in the beginning days of his life. She knocked her forehead against the door, her hand on the doorknob. Ron would be disappointed in her.

Taking a shuddering breath, she pulled the door open quietly. It would be the first time since she'd been back from the hospital that she was exiting her room. The hallway was dim, muffled voices coming from the kitchen. She wasn't sure if it was her parents or Gin and Harry but she didn't want to face them just yet; she just wanted to see her baby.

Her bare feet made their silent way to the door across the hall. It was slightly ajar, a line of light escaping through the crack. Cautiously, she pushed the door open, the shame tremoring through her, a thought crossing her mind of maybe she could do this another day. She threw it off with a shake of her head. She couldn't. She wasn't made to be a coward. Not to her own son.

The door slid inward, revealing the fanciful decorations she'd put together in her pregnancy, knowing that her baby's soon-to-be grandparents would insist that the new family stay with them for a time. The ice cold hands of grief slipping tighter around her again. No new family now.

As the door opened fully, she was met by a sight she had never even entertained in the slightest. A sight that turned that ice cold grief into burning fury, a feeling that she welcomed because it was activeand alive yet held her still with the force of it.

Power surged within her and the window shattered. Hermione barely flinched but the other adult in the room did and looked up with a startled expression, the baby in his arms starting to cry, sensing the change in his happy world.

Draco Malfoy was sitting in a chair near the cradle. Holding her baby. _Her_ baby. "What are you doing here?" Her voice, unused for some time, came out hoarse and laced with dislike.

She didn't even give him a chance to speak before she advanced on him, the man stumbling out of the chair and backing towards the opposite wall, her baby clutched to him. "Give him to me!" She didn't register how his arms carefully handled the child, how one of his hands was patting the baby's back, trying to calm it. All she saw was the tormentor of her youth, the ex- _Death Eater_ , in her home and trying to take her child. And she wasn't going to let that happen.

"Malfoy! I will curse you into oblivion if you do not hand him over right the fuck now!" Her finger was pointed at him in accusation and in preparation for spell-casting, as if to replace her wand.

He held up a hand in a pleading motion, his gray eyes worried and just a bit scared. Hermione had gone insane and there was no way he was going to hand over Jack with her being unable to control her magic.

Harry stumbled into the room, his coat still on from Ron's service. "Wha—" he cut himself off, taking in the scene before him in a second. Hermione in her dressing gown, her curly hair in disarray, her eyes wide in fury, glass shattered around her feet. Her finger pointed at Draco, crowded up towards a wall, his body turned to shield the baby. Harry moved, making a grab for Hermione, bringing her hand down firmly as she fought him. "Hermione! Merlin, Hermione!"

She wasn't giving up, still trying to get at Malfoy who was now making his way towards the door. "He's got my son! Harry, my baby!" The fury was now edged with despair. He couldn't just let Malfoy leave with him.

"It's okay, Hermione, it's okay. He's okay. 'Mione, he's fine. He's helping," Harry's voice was pitched in a soothing tone, hugging his close friend to him, trying to communicate with his words and his gestures that Draco was okay. He'd seen it for himself and known that Ginny had been watching the man and for some inexplicable reason, trusted him with the baby.

Hugging her head to his shoulder as her tense muscles relaxed and she started crying into his shoulder, the anger leaving as sudden as a flick of a switch, he turned to face the doorway where Draco stood in shock, still trying to calm a wailing Jack. "I think you should go."

Draco nodded, his eyes wide as he took in the broken form of Hermione. Jean, Hermione's mom, appeared to take the baby from him, her brown eyes glancing at her daughter, her expression sad. He handed Jack over, his hand caressing the baby's soft head for a moment before he slowly made his way down the hallway, dazed at what had just happened.

Hermione's sobs followed him out the door. 


	8. Open Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sun had hidden behind the persistent gray of clouds reluctant to relinquish their control of the skies as the days moved from dreary winter to slightly dreary spring.

The sun had hidden behind the persistent gray of clouds reluctant to relinquish their control of the skies as the days moved from dreary winter to slightly dreary spring. Hermione was aware that her thoughts were morose but she didn't care, in all honesty had no real feeling about it. Life had handed her a beautiful vase to hold all her dreams and nurture them. Only she'd found out that this vase was cracked and it had shattered in her hands, the broken pieces cutting deeply and making her bleed.

She shifted in the worn armchair she'd been placed in after her breakdown in her baby's room. Harry had put a warm woolen blanket around her shoulders and gotten a hot cup of her mother's chamomile tea pushed into her hands. She'd put up no resistance, turning her head to stare out the window at the front of the house, facing the quiet suburban street of Wapping as the tendrils of steam had lifted up and dissipated from the untouched cup.

Her mother had come and fussed over her a little and then left when Hermione showed the same apathy that she'd been experiencing over the past few weeks; no reaction to the quiet concern in her mother's voice.

An hour or two had passed and she'd only looked away from the window twice, had come back to reality for a moment before losing herself in the numbness that was becoming her only existence.

The first time had been at the wails of the child she had borne and had yet to connect with. He'd made his complaints known clearly, either in the loss of or in anger at the mother whom he'd only known in glimpses. She heard Ginny singing quietly to him as she'd walked up and down the corridor and caught a fleeting look at the pair of redheads as they'd moved past the door.

The other had been the sound of Molly Weasley's voice wending its way into the sitting room. What was she doing here? Hermione hadn't seen her since before… _that night_. She'd pondered the presence of her mother-in-law for a second before turning her gaze back to the window.

There were voices outside the room and some ways down the corridor. She found it strange that everyone had gathered at her home. Was something _else_ amiss? She pulled her legs up onto the chair and rested her forehead against her knees. She was so tired and sad and she couldn't stand it anymore. Nothing more could happen else she'd completely shatter.

Harry paused in the doorway to observe his friend as she sat encased in her glass house. With her hair down and her knees tucked up, she looked almost like that young girl he had met so long ago; the little girl who'd been hurt by a boy's thoughtless words and who'd hidden in a bathroom to cry. At the same time, Hermione also looked so old, as if she'd lived past her time, having witnessed her apocalypse and yet continued to exist.

He ran a hand through his hair before moving to sit on the ottoman next to her. This was going to be hard but she had to know.

She didn't acknowledge his presence for several long minutes. He patiently waited, letting her gather what was left of her together as he thought about how to tell her. Ginny had gotten Jack to calm down and the baby was again in his crib, the small spot of peace in this turbulent household. Arthur and Molly were in the kitchen with Hermione's parents, wanting to be here to support Hermione but knowing that she wasn't quite up to seeing them, their features so similar to that of her deceased husband.

Her head shifted a little, enough for her to peek an eye out at him. He smiled gently and brought his hand up to tuck some of her thick hair behind her ear. "Hey," he greeted her, his voice pitched at a whisper.

"Harry," she answered back, voice hoarse. Her eyes closed in a long blink as she took a deep breath. "I acted terribly just now, didn't I?" There was a small thread of self-deprecating humor in her tone.

"Yeah," was all he said as he continued gently running his fingers through her hair, keeping it out of her face. She gave a small huff of air at this, what would have been called a chuckle had it been a different time and place.

"How's the baby?" She'd closed her eyes before asking this, as if she didn't want to face Harry and his judgment. Not that he was going to let it show on his face. And it wasn't that he didn't have any censure on her action, just that he empathized.

"He's fine. Sleeping now." She gave a small nod, turning her face back to her knees, dark hair falling into place, hiding her. He withdrew his hand, but not wanting to let her slip back into the darkness she'd steeped herself in for the past month, he gently grasped her shoulder, willing to be the connection to reality she badly needed. He still didn't know how he was supposed to tell her, but he knew he had to.

She felt his hesitation and instinctively tensed up. _Nothing more._ She couldn't handle anything more. But Harry wasn't having any of that today. She'd shown that she was still alive, still breathing and he was doing what he always did: what he thought was best for others.

"It's been a month after the accident, 'Mione, and we wanted to wait until you were able to—up to—better," he stumbled awkwardly over the explanation of her depression, "but we needed to bu—deal with it—the situation," god, he knew he wasn't handling this right, "and you weren't ready so we held the service," he paused before saying the name, "Ron's service, today."

She didn't react. Just concentrated on breathing. _Inhale. Exhale._ She vaguely remembered Ginny bringing up the subject of Ron's burial and her own utter refusal to acknowledge what Ginny had said. She'd been drowning in her ocean of grief, too busy struggling for her next breath to worry about what was happening in the world outside.

There wasn't anything to do or say at this point. She had missed her own husband's funeral because she'd been too wrapped up in her grief over losing him that she hadn't even thought about being able to say a proper good-bye. Her eyes ached, tears wanting to form but her body felt dried up and shriveled on the inside. That flame that had ripped through her hours ago at Draco's appearance in her home had left her scorched and revealed the deadwood residing within her.

"'Mione?" Harry's voice was hesitant. She had been so delicate these past few weeks, barely aware of what was happening around her, that he wasn't too sure that she hadn't just slipped back into that almost catatonic state. "Almost" because there were times when he or Ginny would walk past her bedroom door and hear her sobbing, the cries wrung out of the deepest part of her, the sound causing the hair on the back of his arms to stand up. It was her condition that had kept Ginny and Harry from sinking into their own mires. How was she to get help if her closest friends surrendered to the depression and grief?

She stirred, her head lifting up wearily and she met his concerned eyes with a look that spoke of desolation of the lifetime she'd been denied with Ron. "I'm going to go back to my room." Carefully, as if one wrong move would cause her to break, she unfolded herself from the chair and walked out of the room. He watched her go, an imperceptible frown set in his face. She hadn't acknowledged what he'd said.

 

 

The room was cold and unwelcoming, the wizard-judge, Elizer Ricketts, an impassive figure before him raised on a dais. There were many ways that this courtroom was similar to the first one that Draco and his family had been interrogated and sentenced in all those years ago. Draco was thankful for the years of experience gambling had given him in maintaining a straight face for he could still remember the stomach-turning fear and nausea that had assailed him as a young man, sitting in a wooden chair like he sat in now, his hands bound by spell-cast ropes to the sides. He wasn't tied down at the moment but the feel of the wood grain set his fingers cramping in memory of the fierce grip he'd held during those long hours of microscopic cross-examination.

The room was empty save for Ricketts, the bailiff, the courtroom scribe and Draco; another contrast to the long-ago trial where the courtroom had been packed with the Wizengamot, the press and onlookers, all eager to see the great Malfoy family fall. He mentally sneered. There'd been plenty of fair-weather friends then.

The judge struck his gavel. "The Court will now convene. Draco Malfoy is called before the Court on this twenty-second day of May. The charges Mr. Malfoy is called before the Court for are: _Speeding; Driving Under the Influence; Using Magic in the Presence of Muggles_ and being an accessory to _Manslaughter by Motor Vehicle_." His voice seemed to assign no distinction to any of the charges though the last charge had brought dampness to Draco's palms.

He'd been an accessory all right. _He_ was the reason Blaise had been furious and speeding down that road. _He_ was the reason why Blaise died and why Ron died. _His_ actions were the reason for Jack essentially having no mother right now.

But there was no way he was going to admit that in this courtroom. He did not want to go to Azkaban. He did not want it known once more to the Wizarding World how vile and low a Malfoy was. He wanted to change. He wanted to be able to live his life and maybe right some wrongs. He wanted to become one of the good guys.

But all of that would have to wait until after this hearing. He was going to be honest but not to the detriment of his freedom. Self-preservation had been learned in a hard school and the instinct was difficult to ignore. He didn't even know if being the cause of Blaise's upset was a valid enough reason to land him in a cell but he didn't want to find out.

The judge placed his large hands on the table in front of him and leaned forward a little, now talking directly to Draco. "Mr. Malfoy, how do you plead to the following charges: _Speeding_."

"Guilty, Your Honor." Draco was satisfied at the steadiness in his voice. He could hear in the back of his mind the shaky voice he'd used as a teenager, the fear and anxiety clear to all in the room as the boy had tried to remember everything his father had drummed in his head to say before the Wizengamot. He forcefully shoved the memory further away from him.

"Fine. _Driving Under the Influence_?"

"Guilty."

" _Using Magic in the Presence of Muggles_?"

"Not guilty, Sir." The judge paused in reading the next line, looking expectantly at Draco. "From the data I got from the MediWitches and Healers, we'd been found by fellow wizards, not Muggles. I hadn't heard of any Muggles needing to have their memories wiped," he elaborated.

Ricketts nodded, noted something on the papers before him and continued. "How do you plead to being an accessory to _Manslaughter by Motor Vehicle_?"

This was it.

"Not guilty, Your Honor." It seemed that the judge's gaze sharpened, became more shrewd. It felt like the other two people in the room stilled rather suddenly, the room in poised anticipation of whether or not Draco's lie would uphold.

"Please elucidate, Mr. Malfoy." Ricketts' tone of voice gave no indication of his opinion on the matter.

Draco forced his hands to lie still on the arms of the chair. "I did not cause the car accident that resulted in the death of Blaise and Ron Weasley. I do admit that I was at the same party as Blaise and was drinking with him. I also admit that I took off after him when he left as I knew he shouldn't be driving in the condition that he was in, but I didn't hit Blaise's car or do anything else that caused that accident." His voice was steady, belying the hammering of his heart, willing the judge to question no further.

Technically, Draco knew that he wasn't the cause of the accident. It was true that he hadn't been the one driving the car that struck the other. It was also true that he hadn't done anything, at least right then, to make that car go off road. He could see that he wasn't responsible. And if it had been a Draco of a year ago or even a Draco of six months ago looking at the situation, then he would've been satisfied with the justification.

But the Draco of today wasn't having it. He knew ultimately where that responsibility laid: with him.

"I see. Is there any other reason that you should not fall under this charge?"

Draco met his sharp gaze for a moment, Blaise's angry face hanging between them, and shook his head. "No, Your Honor."

"Thank you. The Court agrees with your pleas and assigns you a fine of 350 Galleons along with 150 hours of community service to be spent at St. Mungo's. You have six months to get through these stipulations or further reparations will be requested." Ricketts struck his gavel and with that Draco's fate was sealed.


	9. Wake-up Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It was an inner seed of life that had been planted and nourished in his time with Jack that was now gaining root and growing upwards with the work he was doing at St. Mungo's._

**Chapter 9 – Wake-Up Call**

What went on behind the scenes at St. Mungo's was far different than what one saw as a patient or a visitor to a friend or a loved one. Draco hadn't realized that there would be such a large disparity. He'd only been to the hospital a few times and the last visit was still too fresh in his mind. All he'd really recalled of that time was quiet MediWitches and no-nonsense Healers, all unified in healing those around them.

But now, since he'd been working here a couple of weeks, he saw that there was more to what ran St. Mungo's. Of course he knew that a hospital was more than it's nurses and Healers, but he hadn't given it much passing thought. Now he saw the fortitude it took to actually be in this business of handling life and death on an everyday basis. Healers jumped into the fray to wrestle with Death and put someone's feet back towards living. They not only helped the injured and the sick, but provided succor to their loved ones as well. The MediWitches were compassionate, healing through their smiles and care just as much with their charms and potions.

And they handled all of this with good humor. Draco bit back a smile at the current antics in the staff lounge as he washed up the coffee pots from the previous shift's break.

"Okay, okay, okay," the helpful MediWitch who'd directed him to Hermione's house said as she walked in, flapping her hands at the other staff in the room to settle them down. "What about this? Remember when old Thurlow Tremaine escaped out of his bed and into Cynthia Sheldon's? Who'd known he could still get it up!" They dissolved into laughter.

Catching her breath, the redhead, otherwise known as Madge, seemed to notice Draco for the first time since coming in. "Oi! Draco!" He turned as she addressed him. Her eyes and smile were friendly. "Don't be put off from our strange way, eh? It's our way of dealing with things."

This time he let his lips turn up into a smile, a rare genuine one but he'd watched Madge and the others over the past couple of weeks to know that they meant well and were very kind and he liked them. They all knew he who he was (it was hard to find a witch or wizard who didn't) but they didn't treat him with the contempt he normally encountered nor did they even treat him with indifference. Maybe it was because he'd been so willing to help when he'd arrived, maybe it'd thrown the staff off to see this, but they'd accepted him and treated him with a dignity he'd never really experienced. It had done something to Draco, taken the bitter edge he'd always kept toward wizard-kind in general since the days of his family's trial.

A dark-skinned man poked his head into the lounge. "Break's over you lazy gits. Get back out there." The smile the day shift's Chief Healer flashed softened the stern words. There was a flurry of movement and squeaking of chairs as the MediWitches and Healers made their way out with good-natured mutterings. Draco shook his head as he finished up his washing.

He made his way to the MediWitch desk to see what other duties were required of him. He'd decided on doing a shift of five hours for five days a week as a way of getting through his community service faster. He'd initially approached it as something to get out of the way but from the first day he'd been here, he'd found that just being around these fiercely competent men and women and being a part of helping others, brought a sense of peace in his life. His "have-to-do" turned into "want-to-do" and a part of him had started to flourish. It was an inner seed of life that had been planted and nourished in his time with Jack that was now gaining root and growing upwards with the work he was doing at St. Mungo's.

_Jack_. Draco frowned a little, turning his face away from Madge's, pretending to scrutinize a clipboard. He hadn't been back to visit since Hermione had come out of her bedroom. That day, he'd done his usual actions: run away, put distance between him and others, withdraw, don't confront. It wasn't his place to be there; what had he been thinking? He didn't call or write or venture to that house. He had found himself on the street corner once or twice, staring at it, but would then come to his senses and disappear.

But despite all of that, he couldn't shake the idea that he was _needed_ , at least by Jack and just that feeling alone made him feel that he was being selfish and cowardly in not going back. He wondered if that moment of motherly protectiveness was only a single time or if Hermione really was back. There was mixed emotion there; he wanted Jack to have his mother, but he now also felt that he wasn't able to be a part of Jack's life at all. And it hurt.

A sudden movement caught the corner of his eye. Ginny was disappearing down a corridor with a MediWitch, her eyes wide with worry. Harry walked behind her quickly, his face a mask of concern. Draco felt his stomach clench. They were heading towards Pediatrics.

He dropped the clipboard he'd been blankly staring at and ignoring Madge calling his name, he followed after the Potters. By the time he reached them, Ginny was already in a room with a Healer, Harry standing in the open doorway, standing guard or just being unsure of what to do.

Draco came up behind him, his face going white as he took in the tremors running through little Jack's body as he lay in the hospital crib. He caught some of Ginny's frantic explanations, "—burning up since last night. He wouldn't drink anything and then just before lunch he started _shaking_ like this! I didn't know what to do, I'm not a mother, I—"

"Mrs. Potter," the Healer cut her off gently but firmly, "you did the right thing. I've just given him a potion that should help. Now can you tell me again all the symptoms starting from last night."

As Ginny recounted when Jack started exhibiting symptoms, Draco's eyes were riveted on the small hands and feet that seemed to have quieted as the Healer had spoken. He didn't like the red tint to the baby's skin, as if his blood was boiling. There wasn't enough of Jack there to do much with. Was a fever dangerous for babies? Could he die? His throat constricted and he felt a hitch in his breath.

His whole world having shrunk down to one small boy, he was startled when Harry touched his shoulder. He met Harry's questioning look and realized how random he was to the scene. "I—I'm doing my community service here and saw you and Ginny and—Jack…I was worried." How was he supposed to explain it to Harry when he couldn't put it into words himself how he felt about that little guy?

That assessing look Harry seemed to wear more recently around him swept through him once more. He usually hated the feeling of scrutiny but for some reason, with Harry, it wasn't intrusive. He knew Harry was fair. It was something he'd come to respect about the man. Harry nodded at him and turned back to the room.

Draco took in Ginny and the Healer, Jack and Harry and was struck by how off it seemed. He looked behind him towards the waiting room in this wing, hoping, for Jack's sake, to see Hermione. No such luck.

And suddenly he was mad. What right did she have to ignore her child for almost two months now? How could she not give a shit that her kid was in the hospital? His fists clenched. He turned to leave, but Harry, seeming to sense the change in the other man's mood, put out a hand to stop him.

"Don't," Draco bit out. It came out more vehemently than he intended, Harry not being his target.

"It's not a good idea, Draco." Harry didn't even pretend not to know what Draco planned on doing. Another thing Draco reluctantly admired about him.

Draco shook his head at him. "If I don't do it, who will? You and Ginny have had your hands full with Jack, the funeral and your own lives. You guys are her friends; you don't want to hurt her but I'm not her friend and I don't care if I hurt her further because I'm pissed. She's abandoned her baby who's already lost his father and is well on the way to losing his mother and is too small to do anything about it! "

Draco's tone had risen. Ginny's attention had been caught and she'd moved over to Harry and Draco, leaving the Healer to look over Jack. Ginny put a hand on Harry's arm and they shared a look. "Harry, she does need to start coming to grips with this or at least getting involved with Jack. Nothing we've done so far has made much of an impact, maybe…maybe, she needs her world shaken up—"

Harry interrupted her, concern in his voice. "Ginny—"

"I love her just as much as you, Harry, and Ron was my brother way before he was yours," her eyes shone with tears but she didn't let them fall, that inner strength that Harry admired burning through, "and I miss him _so_ much, but Hermione's got to wake up. She's been the living dead for far too long. Let him go."

After a pause, Harry's hand came up to meet hers, a silent agreement having formed. Draco looked at Ginny and nodded his appreciation. The anger was still burning in him and he hoped the traveling to the house in Wapping would cool him down.

 

 

 

His knock was answered by Jean, her face possibly what Hermione's would look like when she got older, the sharp edges softened with age. The woman's usual gentle smile was replaced with a worried frown, her eyes darting back behind her, as if to make sure that Hermione wasn't lurking in the corridor to attack Draco. He greeted her with his usual politeness.

"Jack's not here, Draco," she hesitated, "he's at the doctor's."

Draco nodded. "I know. I just came from there." Something in his voice must have alerted to her to his intent as her eyes widened in slight alarm. "I'm actually here to see Hermione."

Her frown deepened a fraction. He met her motherly gaze with a determined one. Coming to a decision, she dipped her head and stepped aside to let him pass. "She's in the sitting room."

Concentrating only on the righteous anger that had borne him this far, he paused in the doorway, taking in the silent form that occupied one of the chairs near the fireplace. A blaze had been lit despite the almost warm weather outside and Hermione seemed mesmerized by the dancing flames.

When he'd last seen her, she was in an almost psychotic rage, her magic spilling out from her, manic in her actions as if a switch had been suddenly flipped from listless to enraged. Now, he saw the results of having been grieving in almost complete solitude for a month. She had bags underneath her eyes that she had done nothing to cover up, her hair was matted and tangled; her shoulders slumped and her face held lines that he didn't remember from brief glimpses he'd had of her in past years.

Because of this, his words came out less heated than he'd actually wanted but all the same, she jumped at the sound of his voice. "You should be at the hospital with him, Hermione."

She was out of her chair and looked at him, eyes darting behind him—gauging escape, seeing if someone else was there, he didn't know—before settling on his gray gaze. She frowned and crossed her arms, some of the old Hermione shining through. "What are you doing here? Who are you to tell me what I should or shouldn't do?"

Her belligerence stoked the ashes of his anger and he stalked into the room, stopping just behind the chair she had occupied. "Get off it, Hermione! Jack's sick and in the hospital and you're still here, indulging in a pity party rather than being there for your _baby!_ "

Her eyes filled but she blinked them back, for once the urge to cry beaten out by another emotion, fury at this interloper, this man who knew nothing of her and nothing of her loss. "You wouldn't understand, Malfoy! I don't even know why you're here with my family but it's none of your goddamn business! I _lost_ my husband," her hands beat her chest, "someone I _loved_ and of course you wouldn't get it, could never even _conceive_ of the idea of giving yourself to someone wholly that when they died, they took a part of you with them!" A tear escaped and she angrily wiped it away.

He ignored the tears. "Yeah, that's just it, Hermione: Ron's dead," he stated this clearly, wanting her to understand, to _get it_. She gasped, the breath seeming to be torn out of her at his bluntness and she stepped forward, her hand coming out to slap him for his callousness. He caught her skinny wrist before she made contact and held her stare, his own anger leaving and leaving an almost pleading look in his eyes, a look that made her pause.

"But your son, your baby, _Ron's_ child, is still alive. And he needs you, his mother."

The fight went out of her and her arm went limp in his grasp as she closed her eyes and bowed her head, leaning against the arms of the chair to keep herself upright. Draco stared down at her, giving her a moment.

"I know. Oh, I know. But I don't know how to be." It was just a whisper, but Draco caught it and it tugged at him, the heartbreak he heard in her voice. She looked up at him, her brown eyes asking for something she couldn't give voice to.

And he did something that he would never have seen himself doing, not even when he first realized how important Jack was to him.

He held out his hand to her. "I'll help you."


	10. Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Hermione had blinked at the sunlight filtering through the clouds and turned her face up to the warmth, hoping it would break through the ice that had surrounded her._

**Chapter 10, Air**

The spelled department store façade seemed to mock her. The dummy in the store window leered at her. She hadn’t said a word since they’d left her house and made their way back to St. Mungo’s. Draco had left her to her silence, a gesture which she’d appreciated. She was anxious, her stomach coiling itself into a hard knot. She didn’t know what Harry and Ginny were going to say. She’d spent so long in hiding, abandoning her other life for one of loneliness and pain, leaving her family and friends to go on living without her.

Inwardly she cringed at her selfish actions, as she could see it now. Shame made its home next to guilt and grief. As she’d left her parents’ house for the first time in weeks, she hadn’t missed her mother’s surprised expression which had been quickly covered up with an encouraging smile. Hermione had blinked at the sunlight filtering through the clouds and turned her face up to the warmth, hoping it would break through the ice that had surrounded her.

She jumped at Draco’s light touch to her arm, bringing her back to the present and what she was about to face. “You ready?” his voice was surprisingly gentle, but did not hold any of the sympathy that she’d become resigned to since the accident. 

She glanced at him, taking in his determined look, his own tired eyes and the scar that incised the edge of his eyebrow. “Why are you doing this?” The words were out of her mouth before she had time to control the curiosity. It seemed that her normal filters were down, her thoughts and feelings coming out without check; her own surroundings hitting her with no barrier, raw data just spilling into her.

He stood almost a head taller than her, a fact that she couldn’t help but notice when he turned toward her, bending his head so he could keep his voice low, his eyes flashing silver from the sun. “Because Jack needs you and you haven’t been there for him.”

The harsh words cut clear through her and she had to blink back tears that she refused to shed in front of him. _Did he have to be deliberately cruel?_ She took a step back so she didn’t feel shadowed, intimidated by his height. 

“Why are you doing this? What makes you think you could censure me? What are you to us?” Now that her silence had been broken, she couldn’t seem to stop, her anger pulsing through her, giving her the strength to fight back. “You’re a stranger, Draco, and someone who’s been more enemy than friend in my life. What are you getting out of this?” Because Draco Malfoy could never just be “nice”; there had to be something in it for him.

His mouth tightened and a hard edge came into his eyes. He shook his head at her, almost in disgust, and entered St. Mungo’s, leaving Hermione staring at his back. She hurried after him, ready to scald him with just what she thought of him when the hustle and bustle of the reception room came into view and two dear familiar faces turned towards her.

The anger that had carried her out of her house and again into St. Mungo’s left her and she was swept up again in sadness and in anxiety—anxiety at facing the future, at facing her son. Ginny opened her arms and Hermione found her way to them, taking comfort in simple human touch. Harry put his hand on her shoulder, lending his support.

After a few moments, Hermione leaned back and wiped the tears that had fallen— _Someday, these will stop_ —and met her family’s concerned eyes for the first time in weeks. Ginny smiled in understanding while Harry just looked at her, smiles seeming to be a little hard for the man at the moment. 

“Is he okay?” Hermione asked, feeling like it was safe now, having seen their faces and the lack of utter distress in their faces.

Ginny nodded. “He’s sleeping now. The Healer was able to bring the fever down and the tremors have stopped. We should be able to take him home after the Healer gives us follow up potions.”

Hermione was struck by the fact that Ginny knew more about her son then she did and again that feeling of shame cloaked itself around her. She shut her eyes for a long moment, trying to fight against it, trying to remind herself that she was here now, she was going to be the baby’s mother now. As she opened her eyes, she met Ginny’s blue eyes, eyes so much like her brothers’, like Hermione’s Ron, like Hermione’s son. “Can we see him?”

Ginny’s gaze lightened and her smile widened. Hermione realized how much Ginny had been hoping that Hermione was going to say that, that she was actually here and not lost, that she was ready to face life again. Glancing from Ginny to Harry, Hermione took in the bags underneath their own eyes, the lines of worry and concern that now etched their foreheads and she felt overwhelmed by how much they cared and how much they must’ve taken on while she wasted away. Tears came again and she hugged Ginny and then Harry. They wordlessly accepted her gratitude.

Breaking away, Harry took Hermione’s arm and led her towards the lift. “He’s upstairs.” 

Her footsteps faltered as she remembered Draco and looked around the reception, not seeing his blond hair anywhere. “Draco…” she trailed off, not even sure what question she was trying to frame.

Harry followed her look. “Draco must have gone back to work.” There was something in his voice that caught Hermione’s attention and she looked at him. He shrugged, pushed his glasses up his nose with his other hand and turned back towards the lift.

The ride up was enough to give Hermione time to fill up with nerves at this long overdue meeting. The last time she’d really held her boy, really seen him was in this very place. She recalled the tide of sorrow that had swept through her as she’d traced his small nose, fluffed the red tufts of hair he had. She’d been drowning since then and she felt that only now had she been able to come up for a breath of air. She was afraid that seeing him again, this so n of hers, would break that dam once more. But she also knew she couldn’t keep ignoring him. It wasn’t in her nature to drop responsibilities, to leave those she loved to fend for themselves. Because she did love him, this small person, a new life that had barely begun but had already suffered so much tragedy.

Ginny and Harry led Hermione to a room filled with other babies under hospital care, their cribs lined up in two neat rows, pink and blue blankets in abundance, the smell of baby powder and child mixed in with gurgles and crying. 

A trainee Healer greeted them at the door and smiled when they asked about Jack Weasley. Hermione heart squeezed at the name, another thing she’d failed to do that her family had had to pick up. Ginny and Harry, without saying a word, hung back outside the corridor and let Hermione enter the Pediatrics Ward alone. 

The Healer brought her to her baby’s crib. She found that her arms had wrapped around her stomach, where this small body had lived for months. He now lay under a soft blue blanket, arms out next to his head, his tiny face turned to the side as he slept a seemingly dreamless sleep. She stood there, watching him as his little chest rose and fell with each breath. 

And quite naturally, she felt her lips turn up in a smile. Surprised, she brought a hand up to feel her face. Then, on impulse, she brought her fingers down to caress Jack’s soft head, loving the feel of downy hair and felt her smile widen. And this time, when tears came to her eyes, she let them fall. 

Because they were tears of happiness.

 

 

On the other side of the glassed wall, Harry hugged his wife to his side as she sobbed into a handkerchief. He could feel tears welling up in his own eyes as he watched his best friend and her son. There had been a point in these past weeks when he’d felt that he’d not only lost one best friend but both of them. Now…now he let himself hope.

He felt rather than saw Draco come up next to him. The other man didn’t say anything, just silently watched the scene before them. As Harry watched Hermione touch her son for the first time since _that_ night, he only had one thing to say to Draco, something he couldn’t hold back even if he’d wanted to. The words came out rough but were sincere. 

“Thank you.” 

Draco froze, surprised at how those two simple words affected him. He nodded and, after a long glance at the other two survivors of that life-changing night, he disappeared down the corridor.

As soon as the Healer gave the green light for them to take Jack home, Hermione had been the one to pick up the child and cradle him close to her, determined to start being the mother she knew she had always been meant to be. Jack’s blue eyes opened from his peaceful sleep and he stared at her, as if trying to recall where he’d seen her face.

Her heart twisted with some negative emotion but she shrugged it off, not willing to have that dark specter that had haunted her since the accident come between her and her son again. She felt the pressure lift. The relief allowed the welcoming smile she had denied Jack when he first took a breath. The baby’s toothless mouth opened and he gurgled back in appreciation. Hermione was unable to hold back her laughter at his charm.

Ginny and Harry helped them home, loaded with follow up potions from the Healer and saw to it that Jack was safely ensconced in his crib and that Hermione was still with them and not lost in a tragic world of grief before they took their own leave. They had put their lives on hold while they’d taken over the care of Jack and Hermione these past few weeks and it was time they picked them back up. 

Hermione hugged them both tight, still really unable to put in words how much she truly valued their help but they understood all the same. There were promises of returning tomorrow and continuing to be there for her until Hermione was finally able to get them out the door, wanting them to see that she was capable now, even though she had doubts herself.

As the door shut, her mother came from the back of the house, clucking her tongue at Hermione. Jean took over, as she was wont to do in times of stress and worry, and brought Jack and Hermione to his room so he could be put to bed. When they entered the room, Hermione noticed that the window had been replaced and no trace of a grief-crazed woman had been left. She was grateful for this because she didn’t want her boy’s life marred by her mistakes. 

Jean settled Hermione in a chair near Jack’s crib so that she could watch over him and refused to let her move from that spot. Hermione acquiesced simply because she found that she didn’t have the strength to move from her seat now that the immediate crisis of Jack’s health was over. 

She sat there for hours, watching Jack explore the ceiling and the sides of his crib with curious eyes and hands, sometimes making nonsensical comments to Hermione about what he was observing. She smiled or responded with a simple murmur of acknowledgement which seemed to satisfy him until he fell asleep. Her mother came back with dinner, stood over her while she ate and then disappeared to finish up her household chores. Hermione returned to gazing at Jack, who was now sleeping.

It was going to be hard, living in a world without Ron, but, as she watched the sleeping form of her baby, as her eyes memorized the small button nose and the perfect little mouth, she thought that maybe, just maybe, she’d be able to. At least, she’d do it for him.

 

 

She woke up with a start. Her arm was inside Jack’s crib, one hand loosely over his small foot, her head resting lightly against the back of her chair. Disoriented, she blinked in the dim lighting of the room and glanced at Jack. He’d woken up a couple of times in the night and she’d fed him or changed him, then rocked him back to sleep. Now it seemed that it was near sunrise, the sky outside looking lighter than it had the last time she’d had to get up. 

But that wasn’t what had woken her up. She’d woken up with a need to speak to Ron. She held back the tears that wanted to fall because he wasn’t there to be spoken to. She sat for long moments, reacquainting herself with her life and the changes that had been introduced that horrible night; the very bad and the very good that had come out of it.

She heard a noise come from the kitchen and realized that her mom was probably awake now. On the tail end of that thought came another, a sudden urge that she couldn’t ignore. Making sure that Jack was still sleeping, she wrapped the warm afghan she’d used during the night and padded down the corridor to the kitchen where her mom stood at the stove, making a pot of tea.

Jean turned as Hermione entered and smiled gently at her, pulling out another cup from the cupboard. Hermione sat at the table and gratefully took the steaming teacup from her. They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, Jean letting Hermione gather her thoughts.

“I want to see Ron’s grave,” Hermione began, her voice steady though a bit hoarse, “And I’d like to go now, if you wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on Jack.” _Though you’ve been doing that already_ , she silently added to herself, one of the many pinpricks Hermione kept hurting herself with.

Her mother reached across to take her hand, a gesture as familiar as the worn table underneath her fingers. Her mother had always been there for her, even when Jean hadn’t known that she had a daughter and was living an entirely different life in a faraway land. Hermione had known she could always count on her mother. Warm brown eyes, so like her own, smiled in understanding. “Of course, dear. You need to do this. Now’s just a good time as any,” she hesitated, “but are you sure you want to go alone?” 

Hermione understood her mother’s concern. She nodded; this was something she needed to do by herself. Her mother pursed her lips, worry clouding her eyes as she looked at her broken daughter. After a moment, Jean nodded back.

Before Hermione lost her nerve or collapsed under the heavy weight of “never-could-be’s”, she grabbed a warm jacket for the early morning chill and Disapparated out of the house and to the edge of the cemetery where Ron had been buried. A cemetery she had only been familiar with previously because of the casualties from the War: Fred, Remus, Tonks and too many others. 

She stumbled as she made her way to the Weasley family plot, indecision streaking through her: her mind determined to make this journey, to say her proper good-byes; her heart still crying and searching for the broken pieces to mend together, unwilling to let him go. She stood still a moment, her face turned up to the sky, willing the weak morning sun to find her, the lively spring air playing with the tangled strands of her hair. 

When she felt a little more calm, she started walking again. She watched the ground as it passed before her, not thinking about her destination, only concentrating on each step it took to move forward. Finally, her eyes found a patch of ground still just plain dirt, too new to have any grass grown on it. Flowers in all different shades and sizes crowded around the headstone, some in vases, some just laid against the stone.

  
_Ronald Bilius Weasley_

_War Hero, Courageous Auror_  
 _Beloved Friend, Son, Brother, Husband_  
 _And Father_  


Hermione sank to the ground next to the small memorial, her hand coming out to trace the last word, her other hand fisted against her mouth as her face became wet with tangible sorrow. _Father_. That someone had thought to put that there…

Her eyes shut in pain and she bowed her head, hands covering her face as she wept, a keening cry escaping from her chest and clenched teeth. She rocked herself back and forth, tears and sounds not enough to express the depth of her hurt; she wanted _out_ somehow, escape, but at the same time knowing that retreat wasn’t possible.

It was some time before she was able to choke back her sobs and wipe her face dry. Her eyes felt swollen and puffy, her nose irritated and still she sat on the ground, not willing to leave just yet. Turning, she made a space for herself near the headstone, facing the rest of the cemetery and just looked out and concentrated on breathing, on finding that small will to continue that had seeded with her connection to Jack.

And she found that it wasn’t that hard. In those last tears she’d shed, it’d been like a cleansing, an acknowledging of what was and what needed to be. Because as she sat there near her dead husband’s grave, a feeling of peace crept into her. She felt Ron’s presence, that he was there somehow, helping her. He wanted her there, alive and with their son. He wanted that she be able to see their baby grow up, to teach him her smarts and learn some tricks from his uncles. He wanted a part of him to live on and for Hermione to nurture the embodiment of their love.

Sitting there, surrounded by the evidence of others’ love for Ron, feeling a small measure of relief to her anguished soul, she found herself inexplicably content and felt her lips curve in a smile.

Harry found her there later, when the sun was fully up and the clouds had cleared out. She hadn’t moved from her spot and she saw him when he appeared near a tree some meters away. He steadily approached Ron’s grave, his footsteps slowing as he caught sight of her sitting there. Hesitantly he smiled in greeting, not sure of the reception he would receive, if it would be Hermione or the empty shell he’d been looking after for some time. When she smiled back, her eyes welcoming, he couldn’t help the split-second surprise that entered his green gaze. 

She waited for him to reach her before she held out her hands for him to help her up. As she stood, she stepped forward and embraced him. After a moment, his own arms came up around her, his cheek resting against her hair and she felt him smile. She knew why. He was smiling because he was happy; happy that she had decided to stay with them, with Jack.


	11. A Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Draco’s here.”_

**Chapter 11, _A Conversation_ **

“Shhh,” Hermione whispered, trying to get Jack to calm down. He’d been crying on and off for the better part of an hour and nothing she’d done so far had seemed to work. He didn’t need changing; he wasn’t hungry; he wasn’t sick; he didn’t like his favorite stuffed dragon and he didn’t want to be rocked. She was at a loss and she hated that feeling, after months of having no direction. Currently she was cradling him and walking around his room, hoping that this would eventually pacify the child.

“Draco’s here.” 

The unexpected announcement came from Ginny, who stood just in the doorway to the room, a wary look in her eyes. Hermione could understand that as she herself was mistrustful of this man, not a friend but not a foe either, who somehow was mixed in with her family. She hadn’t actually thought about him since the hospital trip almost a week ago but realized that she’d never really gotten an answer as to why he seemed to always be involved with her son.

She moved Jack to her shoulder, rubbing his back in what she hoped he would take as soothing. Her voice, however, was anything but. “Gin, why is Draco Malfoy here?” 

The redhead blinked at her, a tactic Hermione knew she did when she was trying to form some sort of lie. “No really, why?” she pressed.

Ginny looked to the still crying baby and back to Hermione. “Because I called him.”

Hermione stared at her. “ _Called_ him?” 

“With a mobile,” Ginny put forth as if that explained it. She then took another look at Hermione’s face and put up her hands. “I just thought—Oh, never mind, I’ll just go back and tell him to leave.” 

“Wait a minute!” Hermione reached out with her free arm to catch Ginny before she left completely. But this jarred the baby who’s wails increased in volume so Hermione dropped Ginny’s arm in favor of cradling Jack, who’s lung capacity would be amazing to her if she wasn’t so desperate to get him to calm down.

“Ginny, on second thought, I decided to actually come straight here,” said a smooth low voice. 

Hermione and Ginny turned to find that Draco had appeared in the hallway outside the door, simply but impeccably dressed in a dark jumper and jeans, a low cap over his blond hair. He made Hermione feel grubby with her own hair falling out of the low bun she’d attempted to control her curls and baby spit over her shirt. She resented that, on top of resenting his mere presence.

His eyes went to Jack who was now flailing against Hermione’s shoulder, not wanting to be held it seemed. His arms came up. “May I?” his voice was diffident. She found that she had angled the baby away from him at his gesture.

She didn’t understand this, didn’t understand _why_ he was here and why he thought she would just hand over her baby to him. Her eyes caught Ginny’s over his shoulder and she was surprised to see that the other woman was nodding in encouragement. But still she hesitated. Jack continued to move against her, fighting against her restraining arms. He managed to twist himself around enough that he was facing Draco. Spotting the man, his little arms came up, _reaching_ for him. 

Surprised and just a little hurt, she followed Jack’s obvious request to be held by Draco and handed him over. 

The man took the baby in his arms, settling him in the crook of his arm with practiced ease. “Hi, little guy. Hey, buddy. It’s okay.” Unbelievably, Draco’s voice had taken on an affectionate quality Hermione would never have believed had she not been witnessing it herself. She watched as Jack’s cries became quieter, watched as her son sniffled and stopped kicking, watched as he responded to this stranger, who was no stranger to him apparently. 

And she wanted to cry. She swallowed it back, not wanting to have Draco see her so upset again, and felt a tug on her arm.

Ginny’s eyes were concerned as she took in her sister’s wet eyes. Hermione let herself be led just outside the doorway to Jack’s room, where they could still see Draco and Jack but also have a somewhat private conversation. Draco’s head was bowed over her son who was cradled in his arms, quiet now and staring up at Draco, listening intently to the nonsensical murmurs the man was whispering.

“I’m a horrible mother.” The statement came out on a dejected whisper. She felt a tear escape before she could blink it back and wiped at her face in irritation. Merlin, she was tired of crying.

Ginny’s arm came around her, hugging the petite boned woman to her. “No, you’re not, Hermione. Really. But there is something I’ve been needing to tell you, about Jack, about Draco.” She paused.

“What is it about Draco? Why is he always here?” The words were more apathetic than angry. 

“When you were—“ she cut herself off and started again, not willing to put a label to Hermione’s condition, “for the past couple of months, Draco has been helping us with Jack. He’s good with him, Hermione. He’s good _for_ him.” She indicated the man and the baby. Draco seemed completely focused on Jack, rocking him; Jack’s eyes were closing, sleepy.

Hermione shrugged Ginny’s arm off and faced her, brown eyes fierce. “But why? How’d he even _find_ Jack? Why did you call him here today?”

“I wanted to tell you before Draco saw Jack again, so that you’d know and understand why, but,” she trailed off, her gaze going to the two in the room again. Hermione reined in her impatience at the halting explanation. She trusted her though she didn’t comprehend the situation; she’d always hated it when she was left in the dark, when she was two steps behind anyone. But she knew that the blame lay with her, not her family.

Ginny gathered her thoughts once more. “He saved you Hermione; that night he risked his life for you and Jack. And he tried to save Ron, too, but…it was too late. Draco also lost someone, Hermione. Blaise Zabini also died that night.” Ginny’s voiced had softened. “He’s changed. I don’t know how much or how long it’ll last, but he’s changed.” She sounded like she had just realized this for herself, really acknowledged that Draco had stepped out of the box he and his family had been so eager to keep themselves in.

Hermione was speechless and she turned to look at the man holding her child. Draco Malfoy risking his life to save her, a Muggleborn? Her already topsy-turvy world tilted once more, putting people in places they were never meant to belong. She couldn’t believe it, didn’t dare to give him that advantage. 

But as she stared at him, she noted his soft smile, the gentle way he held her son, his own ragged features that bespoke of recently trying times and felt some of her own anger fade. Because she saw that, at least in this one moment, Draco wasn’t here to extort her, to use her pain for his own benefit. He was here because he needed healing, and it seemed, that Jack provided that. Just as Jack did for her.

His eyes lifted as if he sensed her scrutiny. His eyes met hers, caution in his gray gaze. She gave him a small smile because despite who he was and who she was, her son had stopped crying and was sleeping peacefully, his small face relaxed. Draco’s eyes widened slightly and then he smiled tentatively back, giving a small shrug as he glanced back down at the baby in his arms. 

Hermione felt confused. She didn’t trust him and certainly did not like him, but for the space of a heartbeat, she’d felt a connection, an acknowledging of some kindred spirit. Suddenly uncomfortable, she moved into the room, holding her arms out for her son. Draco willingly handed him over, careful not to disturb Jack and moved back as she lay him back in his crib. She ran her hand over his small head as he settled in under his blanket, taking comfort in his soft warmth.

Turning, she met the tall man’s eyes as he stood quietly to the side and gestured with her head at the doorway. “We should talk.” 

 

 

Draco shifted uncomfortably on the edge of the armchair. Hermione had led him to the sitting room where he’d found her the other day and then gone off to get some tea for their “talk”. He came here today because Ginny had asked him to be there while she told Hermione the full story of what had happened that night. He ignored the whisper in the back of his mind of that not being _everything._

For some reason, while he had settled into a somewhat civil relationship with the Potters, he felt some anxiety in speaking to Hermione. His fingers drummed on his knees and he forcibly stilled them; he didn’t want to _look_ nervous. He wasn’t sure what it was that made him feel this way. Perhaps it was the fact that he knew about her depression and wasn’t sure if he should acknowledge it. Maybe it was that the last time they’d spoken, he’d said some cruel things. Not that that was unusual in their relationship, if one could define it as such, but within himself, in that changing part of his soul, it didn’t sit right with him.

But that was still a small part of a whole and Draco had justified it to himself that he had been doing it to get her out of her apathy so she would help her own son but he knew that part of his nastiness has been rooted in his own resentment toward his parents. And towards Hermione, he silently acknowledged. He’d seen what Ginny, Harry and her parents had been going through while she was locked away in her own cage. He’d known she was stronger than that.

But now, she seemed of sound mind, though still a little fragile (he hadn’t missed the tears earlier), and he was being made to face the fact that maybe he wouldn’t be able to have access to Jack in the future. That she’d bar him because of old prejudices and past incidents. He didn’t want to brush those aside but he would be frustrated if she wouldn’t be willing to see him for who he was now, not the kid he’d been then.

He looked up as she entered, a tray balanced between her hands laden with a teapot and some biscuits. He jumped up to help her, ignoring her raised eyebrows as he took the tray from her and settled it on the low table between the armchair and couch. Standing awkwardly next to the armchair, he waited as she poured them each a cup and finally taking his seat once she’d settled. He didn’t know where these gentlemanly instincts were coming from but felt a small measure of relief that he had some sort of protocol to fall back on.

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, holding their teacups, avoiding each others’ gazes. He’d hoped that Ginny would be here for the conversation but it seemed that once Hermione had regained some of her balance in the world of the living, Ginny had thought it best that she deal with some things on her own. He could grant her that but he didn’t feel comfortable with the present circumstances.

“So…” Hermione started, her voice raspy. She cleared her throat, putting her cup down.

Draco followed her action, setting his own cup on the table and finally looked at her. She looked much better than last he saw her; her hair, while messily in a bun, was washed, her eyes no longer had that deadened gaze, some hint of life evident there and her face had some color to it, not the corpse-like tinge she’d had a couple of weeks ago. She’d actually be attractive if she bothered to do something with herself. Mentally he shook his head, not a direction he wanted to go in at all with Hermione.

She continued. “Ginny told me. About what happened…that night.” She still couldn’t really talk about it. He could hear it in her hesitation, in the shine of her eyes. He hoped she wouldn’t cry. He didn’t know how to deal with it and he had a feeling he would mess up badly and for sure wouldn’t be able to see Jack.

When she didn’t continue, he said, “Yes?”

She flashed him an annoyed look which he didn’t understand. “I—“ she paused again, seeming to have some sort of inner struggle, “thank you.” She looked away as soon as she said it, a slight frown on her face.

Now he got it. She didn’t want to thank Draco Malfoy, the ex-Death Eater. He felt a sardonic smile creep onto his face which she didn’t see, still engrossed in the pattern of the teapot it seemed. Some Gryffindor. He felt his temper rise, ignoring the hurt he felt at her prejudice. He’d always thought that she was the more close-minded of the three, a stickler for the rulebook, her head filled with useless facts on history and the world around her. 

“No problem,” his tone ironic, even a little hard, glazing over the weakness inside him, the part of him that just wanted to be seen for who he was _now,_ not who he’d been. “Sorry I couldn’t get Ron.” He regretted the words as soon as he’d said them. 

Her eyes snapped to his, the anger that seemed to always be directed at him was present once more. Her small fists clenched and he watched as her jaw clenched. He wanted to apologize but the words wouldn’t come.

“I can’t even believe you just said that. What is your problem?” she hissed, eyes narrowed at him. “Don’t you _care_ about anyone else besides yourself?” She stood up, her petite height nothing compared to his taller frame but the anger that seethed from her seemed to add to her somehow. He wasn’t afraid, but it made him pay attention. He was reminded of that day in Jack’s room, when she’d had no control over her magic.

“Just stay away from us, Draco. Whatever iota of selflessness you had that night is obviously gone. We don’t need you. _Jack_ doesn’t need you.” 

He barely checked himself from flinching. Those last words hurt and he wanted to throw them back in her face, remind her of what had happened just half an hour ago, how Jack had reached for him, how it’d been _him_ that had been helping take care of Jack these past few months, not her. But he didn’t say another word. He was mad at himself for letting her get to him, especially now, when he was trying to make something more out of his empty life. 

He stood up, clenching his jaw. If he was going to do this “being better” thing, he knew he’d have to stick it out through these erected barriers of hate and prejudice and there’d be times when he’d have to swallow his words and eat crow. But Merlin, this was hard. Years of ingrained altitude, false superiority embedded in the fabric of his being with one small blossoming tree of light fighting it all. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—“

She cut him off, dislike etched into her face. “Just go.”

Nodding stiffly, he stepped out into the corridor, ignoring Ginny as she came out of the kitchen and stepped into the sunlight. He’d let Hermione have a little time to cool down and then he’d try talking to her again. It wasn’t right what he’d said and he’d need to fix it. For his sake as well as Jack’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Author’s Note:**
> 
> **As we can all see, I am getting more into the Draco and Hermione interaction now. Because I am setting myself up for making as believable a Dramione as possible (IF this turns into a Dramione, mwahahaha) I wanted to see what you think of this chapter. I’m not having Hermione suddenly fall in love with this guy so let me know – is her reaction real? Is his? I’m interested in seeing how it comes across! Thanks, loves.**


	12. The First Thread

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It was just the type of thing he’d expected of his old self, the defensive Malfoy who’d had to barb his words with a serrated edge just so nobody could see how thin his skin really was._

Hermione set her quill down on the table and rubbed her eyes tiredly, enjoying the quiet of her flat for a moment. 

She’d moved back with Jack a few days ago, thankful for her parents’ offer for her to stay with them as long as she liked, but knowing that she needed to pick her life back up and learn to move on somehow. She’d decided to face each day as it came, unable to think of next week or the years to come without Ron by her side. So far the philosophy had worked.

Except for the first night she’d spent alone in the big bed Ron had been so excited to buy when they first had moved into the flat. She hadn’t been able to sleep, memories of nights past hanging in the air, threatening to smother her. She’d been thankful that someone had been thoughtful enough to remove any flowers or cards that had been sent to her, sympathizing with her loss. _As if they’d ever suffered the same fate_ , she’d thought bitterly.

After hours spent lying on her back, sleep refusing to come, she’d gotten up to make some chamomile tea, hoping it would help her relax enough to send her into the sometimes soothing oblivion of unconsciousness.

As she’d been making the tea, her eyes had fallen upon an open cabinet, its door having been removed just a day or two before the accident because Ron had started a project of making it a mini-Dutch door. She’d felt the tears rise in her throat and had moved away from the stove, her feet bringing her passed that cabinet, fingers absently running over the exposed hinges. Her eyes had taken in the living room, a copy of a book on newborn babies turned facedown on the coffee table, exactly where he’d left it prior to going out for dinner; his ratty Chudley Cannons jumper thrown over the back of the sofa. God, how she’d hated that thing, making so many attempts to make it innocently disappear and failing each time.

But now…she’d picked it up and lifted it to her face, inhaling deeply, no longer swallowing her tears, tasting salt at the edge of her mouth. There was only a faint hint of _him_ left. She’d lain on the couch, staring off into the darkness, thinking about her life with Ron, reliving the many good times they’d had. There had been so many following the War. Even then, they’d found moments of joy and happiness in that strife-ridden time. 

She’d been startled out of her thoughts when Jack had cried out for attention. As she’d changed and fed him, she’d murmured praises on how well he was doing, waving his little hands and feet proudly. He helped her so much in this transitional time, when she could’ve chosen to go another, less survival way, he’d been her anchor. She’d fallen asleep sitting next to his crib, the only real connection left to Ron.

She’d spent the next day tidying up the flat. She didn’t want to get rid of Ron’s presence but neither did she want to be overwhelmed by him at every turn. She took it as a sort of healing process. The action of cleaning and re-arranging things somehow made this rawness in her feel better. Jack’s eyes had followed her every movement from his portable crib, bright eyes curious. She’d smiled a rare smile to herself, realizing that there actually was a small part of herself in him.

The day after that, she’d gotten a note from her boss, Gregory Earls, at the _Printing Sheets_ , the publishing house she worked for as a junior editor. Curious as she was still on maternity leave, she’d opened it to find his condolences and an apology as well because he needed her to look at a manuscript from Darla Descart as the author wouldn’t work with anyone else but Hermione and they were down to the wire on printing. Darla apparently had decided to ignore the publisher’s frantic pleas to hurry. Hermione had smiled at the bestselling author’s diva attitude; that was Darla.

She’d been relieved to get something else to take her mind off of the empty days that stretched ahead and had sent back the note to get the manuscript from Gregory. It’d arrived that morning and she’d sat down after lunch to go over it. Now, three hours later, she found that she grew tired of the work more easily. 

Looking towards the living room from her seat at the kitchen table, watching the sunlight stream in and catch the dust motes in their dance, she saw chubby fingers grabbing at the elusive things. The baby had woken up from his nap and somehow maneuvered himself out from under the shade she’d set up for him on the living room floor. His happy gurgles reached her and she smiled. Getting up from her seat, she kneeled next to his blanket and his head turned to her, his little hands still making grabbing motions. 

“Alright little man, let’s go play outside.” She picked him up and went to get his baby carriage. Some fresh air would be nice.

 

 

 

Draco had forced himself to stay away from Jack. He realized that he’d been a complete jerk to Hermione and was able to admit to himself that he was not a little ashamed by his actions. It was just the type of thing he’d expected of his old self, the defensive Malfoy who’d had to barb his words with a serrated edge just so nobody could see how thin his skin really was.

His community hours at St. Mungo’s were coming to a close and Draco was surprised at the mixed feelings he had about this. Having never really held a job—mostly because he’d never needed to—the almost daily work was a somewhat novel experience. On top of that, he found that he actually liked the mundanity of having a place of work to go to. There was also the fact that the staff of the hospital never treated him with disdain or mockery, reactions he’d had to get used to after the fall of the Dark Lord. 

Wrapping up his shift, he made his way down to the reception and nodded to the Greeting Witch who smiled back at him. His eye caught on a poster tacked up on the notice board next to her desk. Moving closer he made out what it said: _Charlemagne’s Charity for Children! Help Those Who Can’t Help Themselves! Donate Today!_

In the past, even after his wand probation was completed, he’d ignore such please for money. He’d been raised with the philosophy of the rich never supporting the poor for they did not deserve it, and it was one that he’d preferred to keep, figuring that if the needy really wanted something, they’d just do what everyone else did and get it. He almost went the same route today, except that a thought struck him, one that made sense for him and one that he thought would be acceptable to all those involved. 

After all, everyone liked money.

 

 

 

Coming out of Gringotts, Draco looked around the Alley, satisfied with his plan, trying to decide if he would tell them now or later, when his eye caught on a familiar blonde head. Cursing underneath his breath, he headed in the opposite direction, hoping that Sybil hadn’t seen him. Since that terrible night where the bitch had _tricked_ him, he’d avoided any owls, Patronuses; she’d even tried coming to his flat once but he’d ignored her knocking and Floo flares. There’d been one satisfying afternoon when he’d been able to dump a cup of cold water over her shocked face in the fireplace. One would think she’d have gotten the message by now.

He’d almost reached the Apparition point when he heard her golden voice, a voice that had captured his attention from the start but one that now grated his nerves. “Draco!”

He stopped, thinking. Maybe if he faced her now, really made it clear how they were _over_ , she would leave him alone. But it wasn’t something he was going to do in public. He already had too much bad attached to his name, and now, when he’d finally done something _right_ in the public’s eye, he didn’t want to change that. It was an advantage he hadn’t sought, but not one that he would turn away either. So revealing an affair in public with his dead best friend’s fiancée was not going to do.

Turning he caught Sybil’s eye and started walking towards a side street that didn’t have many people in it. She met him around the corner, her eyes bright and a satisfied smile on her face. He looked at her, waiting for her to speak, his own face stony. A fact that did not seem to register on her, apparently happy that he was speaking to her.

“Draco,” she purred, a small hand coming up to touch his arm. He tried not to flinch away in disgust, not wanting to show her any emotions. “I’ve missed you.” She pouted, looking up at him through her lashes, a look that normally heated his blood, but for entirely different reasons than now. “You never came back.”

He moved with a suddenness that surprised her, catching that stroking hand in his own and squeezing it in anger. She gave a gasp of pain that he ignored, a part of him satisfied that she was capable of feeling pain. 

“You heartless bitch,” he gritted out, the simmering rage barely kept in check in his voice. “We’re _over_ , _done. Nothing_ is ever going to happen between us again. You fucking took advantage of me when I was blind drunk. It was a mistake. Blaise hasn’t even been cold in the fucking ground for two months and you’re already throwing yourself at me. Leave. Me. Alone.” 

He threw her hand back at her, she cradled it with her other, looking back at him with eyes that shone with tears. He didn’t care about the reason for them. He turned to head back out to the main avenue. Along with the anger, came the less familiar feelings of shame and guilt. Even though Sybil was gross in her own actions, he needn’t have hurt her himself. He flexed his hand, trying to work out the feeling of sick satisfaction of having almost crushed her hand.

Sybil stared at the back of the tall, lean man as he disappeared between other patrons of Diagon Alley. Her hand ached and she cast a quick healing spell over it as her thoughts rolled over in her mind. There was no way he was going to get away with just leaving her to fend for herself.

 

 

 

He hadn’t expected to run into her so soon after he’d set his small plan in motion, but in his need to get away from Sybil quickly, he’d found himself further away from his flat than he’d intended, reappearing in a small alley off the side of a teashop he’d visit on the weekends. Shrugging his shoulders, he figured that the walk home would help clear his head.

Coming to grips with his past and trying to make a future where it wasn’t just about him was hard. There were so many sticky tentacles of his selfish and tarnished actions that could wound its way around the growing branch of actual vitality that Draco was trying hard to nourish. He regretted his actions with Sybil today and recognized that his sudden impulses would have to be checked. Just as he’d lashed out at Hermione the other day, so had he to Sybil.

Walking past a park, his eye caught on a lone woman on a bench, her foot rocking a baby’s carriage next to her. Hermione.

Feeling the need to make up for his behavior the other day, and having the means to do so now, he walked over to her, approaching her at an angle where she would see him before he was too close. As her face registered slight irritation at the sight of him, his light jumper which had felt just right for the spring weather now felt like a heavy parka, the heat of it stifling. He held up his hands, a gesture which meant “unarmed” and, while her expression didn’t change, she gave him a terse nod.

As he reached her, he gestured to the other end of the bench. “Could I have a word with you?” he asked, again the politeness he hadn’t really known he had, coming out. Again that terse nod.

He sat, feeling awkward and unsure of where to start. Looking at her profile, the lines of her face seemed tight, as if her body was trying to hold in much and could overfill at any moment. His gaze made its way to the open mouth of the carriage where a peaceful Jack could be seen. The baby’s head was covered with a blue knit cap and he was tucked into a matching blanket. _At least someone doesn’t feel uncomfortable here_ , he thought wryly.

“I don’t think there’s anything you have to say to me.” The sharpness of her tone created jagged edges in the air. Draco stilled, not wanting to be pricked. He was aware that these next few minutes were really going to be his last chance to ever talk to Hermione or have anything to do with Jack.

“I was out of line the other day.”

Her gaze snapped to his, brown eyes so clear in their gaze, more lucid than they’d been than anytime he’d seen her since the accident. That was the look that was familiar to him, that analytical assessing she did. He met her stare calmly, knowing that what he said was genuine.

She nodded, accepting this. She glanced down at Jack.

“Because of that, because I know that what I said wasn’t okay, I wanted to make it up to you.” He took a second to gather his thoughts. “I opened up a trust fund for Jack today. It’s for him and it’ll be in your control. It’s not a lot right now, but by the time he’s ready to do something with it, he’ll be taken care of. As you know, I—my family has a lot of money, but so do I, just myself, and you’re sort of own your own with Jack right now, so I thought it would be…good.” He trailed off, his stumbling explanation not coming out the way he thought it would.

She was silent for a moment, not turning to look at him and instead focusing on the brave duck that had decided it was warm enough to come back to the park pond. When she spoke, there wasn’t that hint of censure he’d come to expect from her, but just a weary tone, like that of a professor who had explained something to a student over and over again.

“Draco, you can’t buy everything.”

He opened his mouth to respond and realized that he didn’t know what he was going to say so shut it and followed her gaze. A drab mother duck had made her way out of the brush along the edge of the pond, small chicks in her wake. The mother kept glancing back to make sure they were still following until she reached the water’s edge and then took to the water. One by one, the smaller ducks entered the water, no hesitation in their movements, their trust in their mother and their instincts implicit.

There was something to trusting one’s instincts. It was a lesson he had learned over time, honed to a fine edge in his gambling years, and one that he took care to follow now. She was right; maybe money wasn’t the solution but it would help. He didn’t know what she did for a living but being a single mother with a newborn child wasn’t going to be easy, no matter how much family she had. He ignored the sharp stab in his stomach at the memories that this thought evoked.

He cleared his throat, filling in the silence that had fallen. Ever since that night of the accident, he’d wanted to help make sure they were okay. It seemed this feeling extended beyond just making sure she and Jack lived that night but that they also had a future. There was a subject that would forever be between them, between his ability to help Jack or forget about it and somehow move on. 

“That night,” he paused, as she stiffened beside him, “I—we were stupid. Careless and stupid and bloody rich assholes.” He gave a low self-deprecating laugh, no actual humor in his tone. Hermione didn’t say anything, though she relaxed a fraction.

“We’d both had too much to drink and Blaise—he and I, we fought over something that wasn’t worth it and he stormed off, drunk. I tried following, because, I don’t know, I thought maybe I could stop him. I don’t know. It just seemed logical.” He sighed and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, eyes watching the small line of ducks in the water.

“And then…Salazar, all I remember is pain and heat and the need to make sure everyone was safe. Seeing Blaise,” his throat closed up and it was a moment before he could go on, “and then you and Ron…when I realized you were pregnant and that _I_ could’ve killed a life not even started, something changed. Especially after I met Jack. I would do whatever I could to make sure Jack was safe.” He closed his eyes for a moment before staring back out again, the spring breeze lightly ruffling through his hair, bringing soft sounds of trees rustling and other people enjoying the park. There were only a few clouds in the sky, moving with no urgency.

There weren’t going to be enough words for what he had to say next or anything that he could do to make this any softer or any more sincere than he knew how. He only hoped it would help her somehow. “I am so sorry, Hermione. I tried to get him. The car, the flames. It was too late.”

He didn’t look at her, not wanting to make her feel like she had to respond. It wasn’t like she could say _It’s alright, Draco, I know you tried your best_ or _Maybe next time, you’ll get him_. 

She concentrated on her breathing, a technique that she’d come to find helped her relax and not get completely caught in the maelstrom of emotions that was released each time her husband’s death was mentioned. She’d avoided newspapers, the telly, notes from acquaintances commiserating with her loss so that she wouldn’t have to be constantly reminded of what she didn’t have. 

She didn’t know exactly why she’d let Draco sit next to her today and tell her about that night, but she had. And she found that his words, his apology, however sincere or insincere it was, actually helped. Maybe it was the guilt she could hear in his voice, the way his shoulders slumped in dejection or the fact that he was actually the only other person she could share that night with, the other survivor.

The deep breaths seemed to clear some space in her head, because even with her tentative touch towards that spot of her heart that would always ache, she didn’t feel like breaking down. She felt the tensions in her shoulders ease. 

Next to her, Jack started making noises, the kind he made when he wanted to be picked up. Reaching down, she gathered him up with his light blanket and cradled him in her arms, rocking him gently, touching his button nose while his blue eyes stared up at her. They were always full of such wonder at this new world he’d come to be in.

Realizing she still hadn’t said anything after Draco’s apology, she glanced at him to find that he was looking at Jack, a small smile breaking across his face. The gentle smile turned his hard aristocratic features into something resembling human and she was taken aback by it. Without saying anything, she shifted Jack in her arms and offered the baby for Draco to hold. The man’s silver eyes moved up to hers in surprise. 

She smiled, “If you don’t mind. I have to get his bottle from his bag.” She didn’t but she didn’t know what else to say to him. She didn’t want to tell him that she recognized his sincerity, that somehow a small thread of trust had started to weave its way around them, that she knew Jack really liked him. He was still almost a stranger to her but yet he wasn’t at the same time.

But, even if she didn’t say all of that, his eyes and his small nod as he took her son in his arms, seemed to understand it all. And that was another reason why she didn’t really need to say anything: they both recognized a sameness in two very different people.


	13. Moving On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> However, she also couldn't quite bring herself to call Draco Malfoy her "friend."

**Chapter 13, _Moving On_**

The shopping bag slipped from her fingers and spilled its contents along the sidewalk. Diapers and baby formula rolled down the sidewalk. _Blast._ She knew she shouldn't have left her charmed purse at home. She just hadn't thought that she'd be getting so many things when she'd left to get Jack's diapers but there had been so many things in the store that looked useful.

She sighed at her own sorry excuses as she shifted Jack in his over-the-shoulder carrier, making sure she had a good grip on him as she bent down to grab the fallen bag. Jack made a gurgling sound of pleasure at the swooping motion and Hermione couldn't help but smile into his soft ginger hair.

A booted foot had stopped the runaway baby formula. She looked up at the boot's owner as she picked the formula up and was mildly surprised to find the amused eyes of Draco. He wasn't wearing the usual hat over his light blond hair and the sun created a halo-like effect around him which made Hermione grin. _Draco Malfoy: angel. Ha!_ His eyes widened slightly in surprise and she toned down her smile to one of the usual politeness, feeling a little embarrassed.

"Hi," she said looking down, ostensibly searching for the errant diapers while working on stuffing the baby formula into her bag, covering up her sudden awkwardness.

He didn't respond right away, taking a few steps back to grab the diapers off the ground himself and holding it out for Hermione to take. She took it with a smile of thanks. He smiled back, clearing his throat and choking out a "Hello" in the general direction of Jack (who clapped delightedly) rather than herself. It seemed that she wasn't the only one feeling awkward.

Over the past few weeks, Draco and Hermione had developed a pseudo-friendship, really more of an acquaintanceship. Except that it was a little bit more than that. Somehow. She gave herself a mental shake. Even in her head, she couldn't qualify it.

It was just that when people had survived something as harrowing as they had, with him seeing her at her worst and seeming to _understand_ , he didn't qualify as a mere "acquaintance". However, she also couldn't quite bring herself to call Draco Malfoy her "friend."

After that conversation in the park and the moment of peace that had settled between them, Hermione had been unable to see Draco as just that spiteful and awful boy he had been in their school days or the insouciant and arrogant man she had heard a little about in the recent years. Yet, she still couldn't forget that last year of the war, when she had been in his house, when she'd realized that he was a Death Eater. Though his mother had come to Harry's aid in the end and the Malfoys had served their sentences after their trial, she wasn't able to shake off a lingering feeling of distaste at associating herself with him.

A small part of her told her she was being unfair.

Yet despite that, when he found her on her now daily walks in the park, she didn't refuse his company, didn't ignore him. At first, it had been awkward and not a little uncomfortable but as they'd never strayed back to _that_ night and never gone far off the topic of Jack and the weather and the mundane, she'd been able to relax in his presence. In fact, a silent understanding had formed between them, to the point where she found herself expecting to find him at the park.

With the obvious affection he felt for her son and the careful way he handled the boy, he'd become more of a person to her than just a name and a classification. Draco had surprised her at times with his dry humor and his slightly jaded view of the world. She'd known the effects that that war had had on her and her friends and family. She hadn't really thought of how it affected "the other side". She'd known that he and his mother had been deprived their wands for several years and so had had to live almost like Muggles in that time period but it took her a little aback when he referenced muggle television shows or movies to fill in the silence between them. He'd noted her reaction the first that he'd done this and had just raised his eyebrows, a little smile on his face, enjoying the fact that he wasn't fitting her mold.

She cleared her throat and faced the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron. "I was just heading to Diagon Alley," she said, gesturing to the entrance.

In an unconscious movement, he tugged at the bottom of his jumper and turned to the entrance as well. "Me, too."

Neither said a word for a moment.

They'd been meeting in a relatively anonymous location. A muggle park that wasn't trafficked by a lot of their kind. Their friendship of sorts seemed to be limited there because now, with both of them about to enter the main shopping area for wizards, where they could be seen and be seen talking to each other, the awkwardness of those first few meetings had returned.

 _Oh, bother_. There was no reason for anyone to think badly of her just because she happened to enter Diagon Alley with Draco. She was slightly ashamed of how she wasn't able to shake off her prejudice and this feeling of mistrust. She took a step forward towards the entrance and was a little startled when Draco beat her to the door to hold it open for her. She nodded at him and made her way through the darkened interior, greeting Tom and making her way to the Alley entrance.

She paused, expecting Draco to help open the portal. Glancing at him, she saw that he was standing next to her, consternation on his face. He glanced at her, gray eyes embarrassed. "I didn't bring my wand." Her eyes widened slightly in surprise. _No wand._

He saw the disbelieving look she sent him and inwardly cursed. He actually hadn't been going to Diagon Alley but when he saw Hermione and Jack crawling around on the sidewalk, he couldn't have very well just passed them by without helping. When she'd said she was going to the store district, he'd lied and said he was too just because he figured that she'd need a hand what with her own two hands being filled with bags and carrying a baby as well. He'd just forgotten that he hadn't taken his wand with him this morning, running some errands of his own in non-wizarding London.

He could see her mouth opening to ask him about it, why he, a Pureblood wizard, wouldn't have his wand on him, and moved to stave off her questions. He wasn't going to share that part of him with her, despite their quasi-friendship. "Here, let me take those bags for you." She handed them over without another word.

He saw her consider pursuing her curiousity and then mentally shrug it aside as she pulled her own wand out of her pocket and tapped the right bricks to open up the portal. Putting her wand aside, she made to take the bags back but he shook his head. "You've got your hands full enough with Jack there," the baby's head moved towards Draco at the sound of his name, "so I'll just help you with these."

Her brown eyes met his, assessing. She always seemed to be doing that, questioning his motives, not really ever able to just take him at face value of what he said. That bruised part of his soul throbbed once more and he had to ignore the impulse to just forget it, to stop trying to fit in with the people who cared more for others than themselves. He wasn't going in that direction anymore. He'd seen where it would lead and he wasn't willing to just throw away his life when he'd found that he really did like to help others. And helping Hermione and Jack seemed to fill that empty space of his existence that he hadn't realized was there.

Having come to a decision, she smiled slightly. "Thanks, Draco. That would actually be very nice." And with that, the slightly invisible barrier between polite acquaintances and a starting friendship was broken through. It seemed like an almost tangible feeling, this breakthrough.

Turning to the milling street, she started to make her way to Flourish and Blott's. "I won't be here very long though, just grabbing a few things for work."

He fell into step with her. He found himself asking about her work and she answered his questions. The rest of the hour passed by with no further awkwardness. After her last stop in a shop, she turned to him, ready to take the bags back.

"I can bring this to the Apparition point for you," he offered.

She put a gentle hand on Jack's head, the baby having fallen asleep. "I won't be able to Apparate with this little guy. Too young."

"Oh, right." He felt a little dumb for not having realized that.

"It's okay. I wouldn't have known myself if I hadn't read it somewhere." She put a hand on his arm, reassuringly. He tried not to jump at the contact.

Touching was not something he was used to unless it was of the amorous variety and they were definitely nowhere near that. He'd grown up with stiff formality and little to no affection of any kind from his parents. He'd seen how other families were with each other, at the Platform or even just in non-wizarding society, the easy affection that they had, the hugs and the casual touches that just communicated love. He hadn't had any of that. So to have Hermione treat him that way…it was unexpected yet not unwelcome. But also not something he was used to.

She didn't seem to notice the conflict within him. "I'll just walk home. It isn't that far."

He shook himself. "I'll help you with the bags."

She started to protest.

"No really, it's not a problem."

"But I thought you had something to do here in Diagon Alley?" She questioned.

He opened his mouth, his mind already had a ready-formed lie on his tongue, but abruptly he changed his mind. Though he hadn't played for this team before, he knew that lying, even the small lies, wasn't necessarily part of the "good guy" code. "I didn't really. I just said that because I saw you had Jack and all these bags and you looked like you needed help so…" he trailed off, hating the clumsy explanation. Malfoys were not good with awkward.

The smile she gave him was full of pleasant surprise and she shrugged with the shoulder that Jack's carrier wasn't slung over. "Well, okay then." Her easy acceptance left him with an astonishingly nice feeling. Maybe there was something to this unselfish business.

 

 

 

After Draco had helped deposit her groceries and other shopping just inside her door, he'd left with a smile and a quick "airplane" ride to Jack who had laughed hysterically in glee. Hermione stared at the door after Draco left, a startling thought coming to her. Draco Malfoy was actually a likeable person. There was still that sardonic edge to him that she didn't think he would be getting rid of anytime soon, but underneath that, he was _nice_. Such a boring word but she didn't know how else to describe him.

She set about feeding Jack and putting him to play with his teddy bear in his mobile baby carrier while she made dinner for herself. She eyed the unfinished cabinet in the kitchen as she threw the vegetables to cook in the pot. The sting of tears in the back of her throat had lessened to a slight degree over the past few weeks but were still there. She wondered if they would ever stop.

Turning her gaze found the letter from the realtor lying open on the counter. In the months leading up to the birth of their child, Ron and Hermione had gone house-hunting, wanting to raise their child out of the city and in a place where they could call home for the rest of their children. A home that could be like the Burrow but _theirs_. Her mouth tightened in an effort to stem any tears.

She picked up the letter, looking it over though she knew what it said. There was a cottage they'd looked at, just twenty minutes out from London (even less with their magical means of transportation), which was now within Hermione's price range. She'd dismissed the letter initially when it arrived about a week ago. She hadn't wanted to leave the place she and Ron had made into a home. Except, in the days that had followed, she'd found herself unable to sleep in the bed that they'd shared, the memories still suffocating her in grief to the point where she'd taken to sleeping on the couch in the living room or in a chair next to Jack's crib. She still broke down crying when a moment from her past was triggered; it could be that the kitchen sink clogged up every other day or that the toilet seat was always down when she went to the bathroom.

Jack's baby talk distracted her from her thoughts and she looked at the baby as he shook his stuffed toy around, imparting wise words to the furry face. She couldn't keep doing this to herself. She wanted to remember Ron, not feel crippled by memories of him and their life together. He wouldn't have wanted that. He would have wanted to do all she could to carry on, to continue living and to raise their baby the best way possible.

Her mind made up, she summoned a quill and parchment to her. She would take the house. It was what Ron had wanted to do and something she still needed to do.

 

 

 

"Oi, I know you've got a winnin' hand there, mate. Just give it up." Mikael's tone was rough but amused. He'd learned long ago that playing poker against Draco was more Draco letting Mikael win sometimes than any actual competition.

Draco grinned at his friend across the table, slapping down his full house. The cards seemed to shine at Mikael who made a sound of disgust and threw down his own hand. Two pairs. "Bah, you n'your golden touch." The older man picked up the shot of whiskey next to him and downed it in a gulp. The man's face was worn, showing evidence of too much smoking and alcohol, a well-experienced face, Mikael's face was. His thick head of hair was mostly brown, shots of silver running up from the temples and peppering his hair. His skin and eyes were dark, harking back to the Arab roots he had.

Draco watched Mikael grumble into his cup as gathered the cards together. "You're the one who asked me to play, old man. You already knew what you were getting into."

"You could show m'some respect n'let me win once in awhile," Mikael threw back at him.

"I do! I think you won…when was that? Sometime last year I'm sure." He chuckled as Mikael tossed some poker chips in his direction.

"Sometimes I wish I'd n'ver showed you the game." Draco knew that he didn't mean it. In the years that he'd been Mikael's right-hand man, he'd come to know that he was more bark than bite.

Though Mikael didn't say it, Draco knew that he still thought of him as a good-luck charm to a degree. Mikael really had become that older mentor that Draco had lacked growing up. Not that he was necessarily such a great example, he noted as Mikael got up and belched on his way to refill his glass, but more the actual teaching and relating to life that Draco had never been able to get from his father. He snorted imagining his own father sitting down with him to play cards and just talk, about things _not_ having to do with the family lineage or the previous glory of their lives.

"What've you been up to, young Drake?" Mikael asked, sitting back down. He was the only one Draco would let get away with calling him that.

Draco turned his attention to the shuffling of cards, the smooth sound of card on card a familiar and comforting noise. He hadn't told Mikael about the car accident or the death of his friend, not feeling it appropriate as Mikael was only going to be in town for the day before he was back on the road for the next game he had scheduled. It had been some months since he'd seen his old friend so he'd taken him up on his offer of a game when Mikael called.

But he'd forgotten how well Mikael knew him. "You got somethin' up your arse?"

Draco felt a corner of his mouth lift though the humor had gone out of him. "Something like that." His hand came up to touch the faded scar above his eye. Glancing at Mikael, he said without preamble, "I was involved in a drunk driving accident and my best friend died. So did another man. His pregnant wife and myself were the only survivors."

Mikael sat back heavily, his drink forgotten. "Bloody hell, Draco," he breathed.

Needing something to distract him, Draco fanned out the cards in front of him. "She had the baby that night, after I got her out of the flaming car. I couldn't get the other men."

Silence settled between them, almost tangible in its weight. He always felt a little dazed when he thought about that night. It was never really that clear to him. Only the moments when he found the bodies and then Hermione. The rest of it was just a riot of heat, fire and pain.

"I'm sorry, mate. I'm so sorry." The sincerity of the other man's tone wasn't lost on Draco. Mikael was always one to wear his emotions in public. Which was ironic considering that he made a career in having a poker face.

Draco met Mikael's sympathetic stare and nodded. "That was almost five months ago. I've had time to deal with it."

"And the woman? The pregnant one?"

Draco hesitated here. Mikael was the only other person whom he still spoke to that knew of Draco's activities when he was wandless. He hadn't missed the note of concern in Mikael's voice. The note of caution that was there as well.

"She had the baby. His name is Jack. I—I've been helping them." He couldn't lie to Mikael. Not just because he was into the whole being honest thing but because this was _Mikael_ , his mentor and friend when he hadn't had any.

"Draco, ya think that's wise? I mean after J—"

Draco cut him off. "Look, it's not the same! It's not like that at all. She's—I'm—we're not involved in that way. She just lost the man she's loved since she was a little girl. I'm not about to jump someone like that!" He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, the short ends sticking up in the back. "I wouldn't even if that was the case. We have a—a history, a bad one."

Mikael knew nothing of Draco's magical background and he wanted to keep it that way. After—he turned away from that line of that. "But she needed help Mikael. Her son, Jack—she wasn't very good with him when she first had him. She was too caught up in her grief and I found myself there, helping." He realized he was rambling. "We're just friends."

Mikael stared at him, his dark eyes taking in the changes he saw in the younger man. Not just the scar but the fact that he seemed to sit a little straighter, his eyes ablaze with a purpose a little higher than getting money or getting laid. Whatever had happened that night and since seemed to have a maturing effect on the lad. He'd been one bitter and wild boy when Mikael had met him and he appreciated the change he saw before him now.

"A'right, I get it. Didn't mean t'offend. Just concerned, is all." Mikael held his hands up in the universal sign of defeat. He watched as Draco straightened out the cards on the table. He felt that he wanted to acknowledge this changing young man. He liked this direction better than the one he'd seen him going in months before. "You're lookin' better, Drake."

Draco paused in putting the cards back together again and met his mentor's eyes. He saw what Mikael had seen in him, the small smile of approval crinkling the man's face. He felt his shoulders relax. "Yeah, I feel like I am."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **How'd you like it? I see that I get a lot of reads and story alerts and the like which I definitely appreciate but I'd also like to see what you thought of the story itself! My main concern with this chapter here was the jumping of time that I did. I hope that the story isn't seeming rushed at this point because I don't want it to be. I appreciate any feedback on this! Thanks!**


	14. Fragile Friends

"Why is it that sometimes you seem to know more about Jack than I do?"

The question was directed at the man who currently had the baby high in the air above him. Jack's ginger wisps blew gently in the slight breeze that sought to lift the summer air as his searching fingers tried to reach Draco's blond hair. The man would move him just close enough so that he could touch his head before pulling the baby away again. Jack loved the game Hermione had privately named "Balding Draco".

Without looking at her, he replied, "It's a man thing." Jack seemed to agree, given his gurgle of laughter. Then again, it might be the fact that Draco was swooping him back over his head.

Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn't help grinning at Jack's pleasure. He'd grown so much in the past six months. When she let him play on the living room floor, he'd maneuver himself into a sitting position and even wriggle around somewhat across the small space she'd charmed so that he wouldn't be able to hurt himself. She was thankful that his tremors incident didn't seem to have any lasting effect on him. Overall he was a happy baby.

Sometimes Jack would get into crying moods or tantrums that she didn't know how to deal with. Just like the first time she'd seen Draco handle the baby when he was like that, it was Draco who was the one able to calm the crying child down. She hadn't told Draco this, wasn't planning on telling him either, but she had tried his tactics herself: the airplane ride, the Balding Draco game and even dropping her voice a notch in hopes that she could have a low timbre like Draco. None of these worked with her and she would just have to wait until her baby fell asleep.

When Draco was the one to do these things with Jack, he would immediately respond; quieting down or even smiling up at the man, adoration clear in his eyes. Hermione didn't doubt Jack's love for her, she could feel it any time she held the little baby, but there was a special bond between the man and her child that she wasn't able to fathom. It made her sad because she felt that this was the bond that Ron was supposed to have. She wanted to resent Draco, wanted to get him to butt out of such a private relationship. Then she would watch Jack and Draco interact and she didn't have the heart to do that.

She was ashamed to admit it to herself, now that she was awake to life once more, but Draco had been there for Jack when he'd needed that parent to bond with. She hadn't been. For some reason, the child had chosen Draco over Ginny and Harry and it was Draco who held that special spot in his heart. He loved his aunt and uncle as well (really, the baby loved anybody) but Draco and Hermione, it seemed, held "parent" status for him. It was a thought that both disturbed her but also didn't seem absolutely wrong to her. At least she wasn't alone.

She watched Draco bring the baby's belly to his face so he could make ridiculous and nonsensical noises. It was actually astonishing how well Draco got on with the baby. "How do you get along so well with Jack? Did you have a secret little brother or something?"

Draco stopped blowing on Jack's belly abruptly, bringing the baby slowly down to his lap. "No," he answered simply, yet the word packed such emotion in it. Hermione felt the change in his mood as if a sheet of ice cold wind had just blown through her though the season was turning warm. He didn't look at her, staring down at Jack as the baby looked around interestingly before finding his pacifier in the front of his overalls. His failed attempts at getting it into his mouth brought a sad smile to Draco's face.

She opened her mouth to ask him about his sudden shift in demeanor when she heard a voice call from down the street. "Hermione!"

Looking for the source of the voice, she saw Ginny making her way through the pedestrians to the small café she and Draco were at in a side street of Diagon Alley.

After that afternoon a couple of weeks ago where the ice had been broken, she'd gotten over her private prejudice of being seen with a Malfoy. She knew that the general society did not think highly of him or his family, especially after their very public trial, but at this point, she was prepared to hang society. Her son wanted to be around this man. And at least he wasn't a complete arse anymore. Draco had been surprised when she'd suggested that they grab some lunch here after their park visit that day but he hadn't asked her about it and had gone along.

As Ginny walked up to them, Hermione noted the slight widening of her friend's eyes at the sight of her and Draco. The look was quickly masked in a warm smile and friendly hellos. She kissed Hermione on the cheek and reached for Jack who went willingly into his auntie's arms. "How's the little boy? How're you?" she cooed.

This was one of the things Hermione liked about bringing Jack out. He always garnered such loving affection from anyone who saw him. While she didn't let just anyone pick him up, the fact that her son knew that he was loved made her glow with motherly pride. Plus, Jack just soaked it all up. He seemed so seated in the present, enjoying anything that happened around him.

After Ginny was done with her Jack-worshipping, she pulled a chair over to sit with them. She glanced at Draco from the corner of her eye. He seemed to get the hint and got up, saying, "I'll see if there's any pastries I'd like for dessert." He disappeared through the door to inside the café.

Hermione leaned forward in her seat. "Is everything alright?" she asked in concern, feeling that getting Draco out of the way suggested that it was family business they were talking about.

Ginny looked up from contemplating Jack who was busying himself with trying to catch the ends of her fiery mane. "Oh yes, everything's fine," she rushed to reassure her sister-in-law. "I was actually just about to visit you when I happened to see you here. With Draco."

"Yes." Hermione had caught the extra emphasis Ginny had put on the end of her statement. She glanced at the café window where she could see Draco inside, hands in the pockets of his khaki slacks, looking with concentration at the pastries on display. "I—you were right, Gin. He's changed. He's actually been a big help with Jack. He's actually… _likeable_." The word rolled off her tongue strangely. She'd thought it plenty of times since they'd started meeting up, but to actually say it out loud was something else entirely.

Ginny smiled, pleased at her friend's willingness to see beyond old prejudices. "I know. It's strange, isn't it? But people change." She then changed the subject.

"You remember when I told you at the beginning of the year that Harry and I'd have to do some needed preps work for the World Cup next year?"

Hermione nodded. Ginny was in the Department of Games and Sports at the Ministry, specifically as the Head Coordinator for Quidditch. She'd played four seasons with the Holyhead Harpies before she'd had to retire due to a wrist injury that hadn't healed up correctly. But she'd found her niche in the Department of Games and Sports so Hermione didn't think it was too much of a loss.

Since she had started working as Head Coordinator, Ginny had been working on increasing the British wizarding community's awareness of other countries' own communities through the friendly competition of Quidditch. She felt that this would help keep the peace that the world had found after the fall of Voldemort. The World Cup was an excellent event on which to promote friendly competition while maintaining good relations so she had been working with the Brazilian Ministry of Magic to coordinate holding the popular game in their country.

"Well, we just got clearance from the Brazilian Ministry to scout the location along with their own G&S people but the window is only open for the next month. So Harry and I are leaving next week with some of his Ward-Makers to at least finalize the location and start setting up the wards. We'll probably be about three weeks out." Ginny's tone was slightly diffident, a little worried how her friend would take having her only best friends leave for such an extended period of time.

Hermione didn't miss the note of concern in Gin's voice. She placed a reassuring hand on her friend's arm, just above Jack's head. The baby had been lulled to sleep by the conversation and the warm weather. "That's great news, Gin. You have nothing to worry about. I'm better now. You've seen that, haven't you?"

Ginny's face relaxed into a smile and she nodded. Her brown eyes showed relief at Hermione's support. "I know. Yes, you've been doing wonderfully, actually. I mean, look at him," she looked down at her nephew, love and pride evident in her face, "such a perfect little guy."

Hermione's hand left Ginny's arm to touch Jack's head in agreement. Of course, there was only just a little bias there.

Draco popped through the door, chewing on part of the chocolate croissant he held in his hand. He raised his eyebrows at the women, silently asking if it was okay to come back.

Ginny nodded and then gave a soft chuckle. "You saving that for later?" she asked, indicating the side of her own mouth.

Hermione looked back at him and saw the remains of chocolate before Draco wiped it off with an embarrassed swipe of his hand. He smiled in good humor though and sat back down. The rest of the afternoon passed in companionable chatter.

 

 

 

Draco walked home after having paid a reluctant visit to his parents whom he'd been neglecting in favor of Jack who was someone he wasn't going to tell his meddling and still deeply prejudiced parents about.

It was just another habit that he'd picked up in living the muggle life: walking. There were times when he resented it, usually when the weather was inclement (this was before he learned to drive) and then there were times like now, where he actually enjoyed just watching the streets and the sky above as he ambled along. He knew he didn't look like he was particularly enjoying himself, but hell, he never looked like that.

Making it to the building of his flat, he took the lift to his floor. When the doors opened, he saw a flash of blonde in the hallway and instantly thought of Jemima. He shook his head, clearing his mind. Jemima was gone. She wasn't ever going to come back to him. She hated him. He knew why his thoughts lingered on her though, as of recent. There was a part of him that sided with Mikael in his concern for him helping Hermione and Jack, but it was a part easily smothered by the rest of him.

Stepping out of the elevator, he dug in his pocket for his keys when he noticed someone standing in front of his door. Looking up from her bare legs to the light summer dress that artfully wrapped around her petite frame, he met the cocky smile and cold blue stare of Sybil.

He stopped where he was and let out a sigh of exasperation. "Really, Sybil? Does 'no' mean _anything_ to you? Do I have to spell it out?"

Sybil didn't respond to his statement except for a slight tightening of her lips. Maybe earlier today, he might've taken some satisfaction in that reaction. Now, he was just tired from already having to deal with his anxious mother and his depressing father that he just wanted to go to sleep.

"You've been seeing someone else," she said, her voice rough with some sort of emotion that Draco didn't care to interpret.

"No, I haven't," he responded curtly. "Now, move." He stepped forward with his key, using his larger size to intimidate her into stepping aside. She moved, just barely but enough so that he could insert his key and open the door. He could feel his temper starting to ignite at her obstinacy.

"I can't believe you'd go after the woman whose husband you helped kill," she hissed venomously as he passed her.

Anger exploded in his mind at her words and he roughly grabbed her arm and pulled her through the door, pushing her against it as it slammed closed.

"What the fuck did you just say?" he yelled at her. He tried to keep the anger in check. He didn't want to hurt her. No, actually he _did_ but he wasn't going to give into those dark impulses any longer. He'd been trying too long at boxing away that part of him to do that.

That cocky smile was back. _God, she was sick_.

"Draco," she crooned, pulling her shoulders up and lifting her chin a little, knowing just the angle to set off her features, "don't you think it's just a bit morbid to be messing around with a woman you basically widowed?"

His fists clenched. The bitch had actually _repeated_ what she'd said. "What are you talking about?" he said in a low and icy voice. He knew what she was inferring about but he wanted to hear what her selfish mind had twisted it into.

"Oh, come on, Draco." Her tone was patronizing. "We've never been anything but honest to each other and you're too much like me to play dumb. Don't pretend that I wouldn't know about Hermione," she spat the name out.

"What are you doing?" He threw his arms up in frustration. "Spying on me? Don't you have anything better to do with your life? Some other man to suck dry of his gold? _Nothing_ is happening with Hermione! Not that it's even any of your business!"

She folded her arms across her chest, one perfectly arched eyebrow lifting in skepticism. "Nothing? Then why do you meet with her and her baby almost everyday? Does she know what you've done, Draco? How can she allow you near her son?"

At the mention of Jack, Draco froze momentarily. _Fuck_. He didn't want her to know anything about that, about what that child meant to him. The woman wanted something, he'd bet his right arm on it. He knew that she'd accepted that they were over but now he also knew that she'd come up with a contingency plan.

Because she was right about them, how they were similar. Or how they _had_ been similar. Selfish, greedy, into the pleasure of the moment and damning of any consequences. But he wasn't like that anymore. He'd learned in his weeks at St. Mungo's, in his time with Jack and now Hermione. He'd learned that he could be a little more than a bastard who took what he wanted; that he could do good.

And Sybil wasn't going to do anything to ruin that.

"What do you want, Sybil?" He strove to keep his voice cool. She was not going to see what Jack meant to him because she'd use that to her advantage.

She smiled a satisfied smirk, dropped her arms and walked toward him, a seductive sway to her hips. Just before she reached him, he gave her a chilly glare, a warning she smartly took and changed direction to head into his living room. Her delicate fingers caressed his black leather sofa before she turned to lean on it and pin Draco with her stare.

"I want money." At least she was being blunt.

"Yeah, I figured, but I don't know why you think I'm going to give you any." He'd stayed where he was and crossed his arms, settling into as imposing stance as he knew how. And he knew he could do Intimidating with the best of them. It'd come in use in his gaming days.

"Because, Drakey," he knew she dropped that in there to get a rile out of him and so he ignored the pet name, "if you don't give me 20,000 Galleons, I'll tell Hermione about why _exactly_ Blaise was drunk and driving on that night."

His hands went cold.

"I don't think she'll want you around after that." She finished with a triumphant smile. She hadn't missed his reaction. She stood up straight, pulled down the hem of her dress so that it barely reached her knees and ran a hand through her hair, settling it back into its perfect waves. She made her way to the door. "But, I think I'll let you think about it, love. Call me." She gave him one last sultry look and then left.

He stared at the door, his thoughts racing. Hermione would kill him if she knew why Blaise was on the road drunk. She'd already had to overcome her hatred and prejudice from years ago to even allow him around Jack. And even then the only redeeming quality about him was that he'd actually saved her and her baby on the night of the accident. But if she knew about Blaise…

He finally moved, making his way to his living room and sitting heavily in a matching leather chair which creaked as he sat. Head in his hands, he stared at the wooden floor. He could make out his distorted reflection in the sheen.

There was no way in hell he was going to pay the bitch off. She'd just keep coming back for more. But similarly, he wasn't going to tell Hermione anything more than he'd already said.

He didn't know what to do.


	15. Forged in Flames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She couldn’t believe what her mother had just told her. It was too soon. She had just started learning to deal with Ron’s death. She couldn’t handle another. That numbness that had been her life for the weeks following Ron’s death crept back to the threshold of her mind. It wanted in and she almost wanted to allow it. Almost._

The corner of the coffee table sagged briefly as Draco tried to get a better grip on it.

“Be careful!” Hermione’s voice rang out at the other end of the table. Her dark hair was once again piled messily on top of her head, curly strands falling out. He wondered if she even _thought_ about making herself look a little more presentable. His mind brought up images of Hermione in Hogwarts. The answer was no. He smiled inwardly, not wanting to rile her up even more than she was already. He’d somehow gotten roped into helping her move into a cottage she’d recently bought. He would forever remember after this that Hermione and moving did not mix well.

“Remind me again, why I’m helping you with this manual labor?” He couldn’t help the snotty tone he took on. He was half joking and half not. He wasn’t one to get his hands dirty too often. He’d done it at St. Mungo’s because he’d had to and then had liked it, but the process of shifting furniture and other minutia across kilometers of land was now something he could file under _I don’t like_.

“Because the rest of my family have lives and you don’t,” she replied shortly, as she angled the coffee table into the position she liked in her sitting room. She was definitely not in a pleasant mood. For some reason, Draco found this amusing. 

“You also _forgot_ your wand,” Hermione added. Draco didn’t miss the extra emphasis but neither did he respond. The reason for that was too personal and he wasn’t going to get into it with her. 

In his playpen in the corner, Jack watched the two adults maneuvering furniture, lamps and books about with interest. He was away from any possible dangers but close enough to be kept an eye on.

Draco straightened as Hermione floated another box in from the moving van outside. As Hermione was distracted with opening the box and poking around it, Draco decided that a break was in order and ambled over to Jack. The baby saw him coming and smiled delightedly, holding up his arms for Draco to pick him up. 

“Hey! I didn’t say we were done!” Draco looked at Hermione whose arms were on her hips and a very annoyed look on her face. Jack’s head had swung around at his mum’s voice but he’d apparently decided it was safer with Draco as he settled his head against the man’s shoulder.

He raised his eyebrows at her tone, his hand coming up to cup Jack’s ears. She rolled her eyes at his action and went back to rummaging through the last boxes, mumbling underneath her breath. He didn’t catch what she was saying but he was sure it was aimed at him and anything but flattering.

The cottage Hermione was moving into was small but a decent size. Two levels, three bedrooms, two and a half baths, a kitchen and a front room which opened into a small dining area. The first floor was an open space that made the small house seem bigger than it actually was. He’d gotten a glimpse of it from the outside: pale-green painted wood and stone melded together to form the outer walls with intersecting gables, a large chimney and a bay window where the sitting room was. The word “quaint” seemed to be the only appropriate word for the Weasleys’ new home. 

“So, you never really told me if you were accepting Jack’s trust fund or not.” She glanced up at him, a little surprised. It was out of the blue having been several months since the one and only time he’d brought the trust fund up. Since Sybil had visited him, he’d been thinking of ways to imbed himself in Jack’s life so that if Hermione blew up (which was an almost guarantee), he wouldn’t be able to be thrown out of the child’s life. There wasn’t much that he had going in his favor though, just that Jack seemed to love him and lots of money at his disposal. He wasn’t going to exploit Jack’s love so he was going to use what he had.

She straightened and came around her couch to lean against it, looking at him and Jack. “It was definitely generous of you to do that, Draco, but like I said earlier, money doesn’t buy everything.”

_Does she know what I’m trying to do?_ He thought with sudden anxiety. She wasn’t a stupid woman. He knew already that her uptight morals wouldn’t allow for him to basically bribe her into keeping him around despite the crimes against her family but he really didn’t know what else to do. He needed Jack and Jack needed him. If the goal was good, then didn’t that mean how he got there didn’t matter?

He shifted the baby in his arms so that Jack rested against his other shoulder. Jack didn’t wake up, making an unintelligible noise as he settled against Draco. He knew that the baby was probably drooling on him but he didn’t care. His comforting baby smells bolstered Draco’s confidence. _Jack needed me_.

“I know. But you know me or at least my family. We’ve got too much money even after all the fines, taxes and such that I want to do something good with it. Besides it’s my money I’m using anyway so I’ll do what I want with it.” He hoped he didn’t sound as petulant as his words were.

She smiled a little at his tone. “I just don’t feel like we need the charity.”

Why did she have to be so stubborn and full of pride? He just barely managed not to roll his eyes. “It’s not charity, Hermione. It’s for Jack. You’re a single mother and while you’ve got a lot of family, it’s not like they’re rolling in the dough.” He tried to inject some humor into his statement as he didn’t want her to be insulted for calling the Weasleys poor even though they were. At least compared to his family.

She didn’t seem to take it as an insult, or maybe she just expected that type of statement from him. She took a moment before speaking again, “Okay, for Jack. But he isn’t touching it until he’s gone to university or started working for a couple of years. I want my son to learn how to earn money on his own and not be a trust fund baby.”

He caught the undertone of what she was saying and this time did roll his eyes. He wanted to childishly reply to her barb but withheld himself. “You’ll be in charge of it anyway. I put it in your name.” 

At this she really smiled at him. “Thank you.” 

He nodded, not used to accepting anyone’s gratitude. Her mobile ringing helped distract her from his embarrassment. Getting off the sofa, she took the phone out of her pocket, looking at the caller ID. “Oh, it’s my mother. Hi, Mum!” she answered.

After barely two seconds of being on the phone, he watched her face go white and she slumped against the sofa again. “Oh my god,” she breathed, a hand moving to cover her mouth. He moved to stand next to her in case she fainted. She was so pale.

“When?...You’re at the hospital? Which one?...I’ll be right over.” 

Draco could only here one side of the conversation but drew in a breath at the mention of a hospital. He couldn’t help but feel sympathetic for Hermione who had already had enough tragedy in her life for someone as young as she was. He stood silently by as she finished the call and hung up.

She couldn’t believe what her mother had just told her. It was too soon. She had just started learning to deal with Ron’s death. She couldn’t handle another. That numbness that had been her life for the weeks following Ron’s death crept back to the threshold of her mind. It wanted in and she almost wanted to allow it. Almost. 

She felt a touch on her arm. Dragging her gaze up, she met Draco’s concerned eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

Taking a deep shuddering breath, she answered, her voice somehow having gotten rough in the past few minutes, “It’s my father. He just had a stroke and is in the hospital.” She closed her eyes, trying not to cry. She was done with crying.

“Oh.” He was uncomfortable and yet he tried to help. “Are you—will you go to the hospital?” he asked.

She opened her eyes which were wet with unshed tears. “I’d like to, except,” she paused and looked around, bringing a hand up to rub at her temple, feeling a headache coming on, “I only have the van for another hour before I have to return it and I’ve still got so many boxes to move. And I don’t want to bring the baby back to the hospital.” Her voice quieted on this last part. The hospital had just been pain for Jack in his short life, she didn’t want to keep exposing him to that.

Draco was quiet for a moment. “I’ll mind Jack and help unload the van so you can see your dad,” he offered, diffidently.

Hermione couldn’t help showing a bit of concern on her face. They’d become friends over the past few months but leaving him alone with son in her home wasn’t something she’d even contemplated. There was only so far she was willing to trust this man. And yet, as she looked into his eyes, she found something there. It was something she hadn’t even really known she was looking for, except she realized now that she had been seeing it now for some time.

It was sincerity and genuine friendship she saw and it nudged her into accepting his help. “Alright. Thanks.” They looked at each other, assessing and acknowledging what had just transpired. In the midst of tragedy and loss, they had formed a bond, a friendship that was actually worth something. That was worth it to both of them.

 

 

 

The next week fell into a different sort of routine for both Draco and Hermione. She had asked for his help the day after her father’s stroke and it had become a daily thing after that. She hadn’t needed to ask and he also didn’t mention it. He would stop off at her house after lunch while she would make it to the hospital and later to her parents’ house to see her father. It would be unnerving to her, this easy understanding that seemed to form between her and Draco, if she had the time to pay attention to it, but she didn’t.

She’d gone to see her mother and father at the hospital near Wapping on the day of her father’s stroke. By the time she’d gotten there, having to travel the muggle route, her father was already asleep with some medication. Her mother sat in a chair beside his bed, alternately watching the rise and fall of his chest and the IV as it dripped down to her husband.

Hermione had rushed into the room to embrace her mother, feeling almost like that weepy, bushy-haired girl she’d been. Jean had hugged her back, just as tight as she’d done when her daughter was little. They’d stayed that way for a moment before Hermione had pulled back.

“He’s okay, honey,” her mother had comforted her, pushing strands of her daughter’s curly hair back into the bun she had. “It was just a minor stroke, but we got here in time for the doctors to stabilize it.”

Hermione had let out a deep breath of relief, wiping away the few tears that had fallen. She’d stood up to take her father’s still hand as it lay on the blanket. “Will he recover fully?” she’d asked, feeling so very young, compared to the lines drawn across her father’s face, the slight lack of muscle tone on the left-side of his face.

Jean also stood up to put an arm around her daughter, leaning her head against hers, gray mixing with brown. “The doctors can’t say, but if he works with them and if we help him, he should be fine.”

Hermione had closed her eyes for a moment in thanks to whatever god was out there. They had stood there for hours, watching the man, both a husband and a father, sleep.

After the fourth day of being hospitalized, the doctor had deemed it safe to release Greg Granger into the care of his family, with weekly visits to the physical therapist to ensure he continued to retrain the muscles that had been affected. Hermione had been on hand to help her mother move her dad to their house, thankful that it was just a one-floor building. It would probably be the first time that she’d thought that, having complained mightily about not having any stairs when she was growing up.

Hermione had been torn between spending as much time with her parents, helping them through this rough patch in their lives, especially now that they were older and also ensuring that Jack was being cared for and not being neglected by his mother. Jean hadn’t missed the conflict in her, perhaps remembering her early days as a mother, and had assured Hermione that she needn’t be so worried about them. “We’re old and experienced, love, and have weathered a few tough times of our own in the past. We’ve even done well at raising a beautiful woman who ended up opening a whole new world to us. You don’t need to mother us, we’ll be fine.”

Hermione had put up a protest at this, not wanting to leave anything open for Death to come swooping in. She hadn’t said that but it was a thought always at the back of her mind. Jean had smiled and hugged her daughter and assured her that she would call her as soon as she needed help. 

Still, Hermione kept checking back for the next few days. Greg hadn’t really been able to talk following the stroke and had really only been able to smile and hug Hermione, one-armed. She hoped that the paralysis would fade. And one day, about six days after he’d come home, he spoke. He’d asked for some water. Jean had nearly dropped the glass she’d brought into the room and Hermione had had to cover her mouth to hold back a sob that had just about escaped. She had hoped that he would be able to talk, had spoken in a positive manner about it. But there was some part of her behind it all that hadn’t really believed, that had doubted. 

Not wanting to cry in front of her parents, she’d said bye to both of them and Apparated home. She could feel herself walking on the edge of a waterfall of tears. Somehow her father finally speaking after thinking that maybe he wouldn’t again had let loose that thin barricade she kept around tears she had stopped herself from crying over the past months. She truly thought she would be able to leave them there forever, and then now…. 

It was the sudden appearance of Hope that had gotten to her. After having everything ripped away from her half a year ago, she thought that life was just going to take one more person. That maybe it was just going to start picking them off, all the important people in her life, one by one, like a sniper in one of those horrible American movies. And then her dad had spoken. He’d asked for _water_.

She cried. She couldn’t hold it back any long. She was standing in the middle of her kitchen, barely noting the fact that dinner had been started on the stove, and she just sobbed. She brought her hands up to cover her face, dropping her wand in the process and just let herself go. She didn’t care that she was making noise. She didn’t care that Draco was probably somewhere in the house with Jack and he would see her. She was tired. She was emotional and she just needed to let it all out.

She heard footsteps enter the room and felt warm, strong arms surround her. And it had been so _long_ since someone had just comforted her that she let herself be pulled into the embrace. She buried her face in his chest and cried. A hand smoothed her hair in a cautious but soothing motion.

It was some time before she was finally able to stop crying. A tissue had appeared in her hand at some point and she wiped it against her eyes and nose. They hadn’t moved from the kitchen or from their embrace and she wasn’t inclined to do so at the moment. Soon, she knew her analytical self would rear her head, but for now, she was just going with instinct. Sometimes, a hug was just what was needed. 

After a moment, she pulled back. His arms dropped easily and he took a step back himself. She concentrated on blowing her nose and straightening her hair, unable to look at him now that she was thinking once more. She heard him clear his throat and noticed that he was at the other end of the kitchen now, leaning against the counter that divided kitchen from dining room. She threw her tissue away and looked up at him, from her safe spot of the sink. His face was a little pink and she was sure hers was too. 

Hugging was not in the Draco-Hermione Friendship Booklet.

Finally, after both of them spent a very long and drawn out minute avoiding each others’ gaze, they made eye contact. He cleared his throat again, rolling down the sleeve of his dark blue shirt. She was embarrassed to see tear stains across the front. “Did he—did your dad—die?” He didn’t want to ask but he felt it would be better that she spoke about it rather than bottled it.

She smiled a little at that, remembering what exactly had set her off. “No,” she replied, running a sheepish hand through her hair, “he’s fine. More than fine actually, right now. He finally spoke today.”

He smiled in relief at her statement, glad for her. Then his pale eyebrows came together and his head cocked to the side in confusion. “Then why were you crying?” As soon as he asked, he felt he shouldn’t have. It’s not like he really needed to know. “Did he say something to upset you?”

“No,” she replied. She bit her lip, glancing away for a second before her brown eyes met his. “He asked for water.”

He stared at her. 

She stared back at him. 

And they both started laughing at the same time. 

She didn’t really know why they found that so funny, but she didn’t care. Just as it had been so long since she had been simply held; it had been just as long since she’d just let herself laugh. And she appreciated him for being there for both.


	16. Coward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting the last three chapters I have over at ff.net and then not posting until I have the story completely finished. I've already made so many people wait a very long time for this story (I'm pushing over two years now!) and one of my New Year's resolutions was to complete "Bend or Break" and then post as I edit. Wish me luck and enjoy these three installments! (I am writing and my muse is cooperating so it's looking better than it has been for this story.)

The August night was warm, the heat from the day still lingering in the air, curling the ends of Hermione's hair even more than usual as she paused outside of the Burrow's gates. The eclectic house had been such a stable point in her life: a place to go to on holidays, a haven of safety in the middle of the War, a home away from home.

Since Ron's death though, she hadn't been able to call the place home. It was only now, six months later, that she had been able to make the trip to see the house. Molly and Arthur had visited her a handful of times at her parents' house or her old flat. It had only been a handful because of the discomfort that stalked their conversations when they ran out of things to say about the weather, the rest of the family or Jack. Hermione wasn't sure what the change was except, deep down, she felt that maybe they blamed her for their son's death. Analytically, logically, she knew that that couldn't be true, but still, their stilted conversations had no other reasoning to it.

She hadn't really seen the other Weasley relatives other than Ginny, the wound still fresh and sensitive to the touch. Seeing faces that echoed  _his_ just made it so hard to move on, to find that will to continue creating a life without him. Even with Jack, who had become her lighthouse in these past few months, the one who brought her back to shore when she felt herself being swept away on a tide of sorrow, she'd find herself overwhelmed at facing years without Ron. Slowly, those moments were becoming less, but they were not entirely gone.

Six months was a long time, though, to stay away from the family and she couldn't go on avoiding them. She didn't want to anymore anyway. After her father's stroke, she'd come to realize that she couldn't go on not being with her family, couldn't face the fact that maybe, while she was busy holding herself away, that one of those precious people could die.

She shook her head, trying to get rid of the morose feeling that always seemed to want to cling to her. Jack stirred a bit in her arms at her movement, still sleepy from his afternoon nap. She was here for Ginny's birthday party and she wasn't going to bring old Sorrow in with her. It was about time she left it behind.

Taking a deep and steadying breath, she pulled open the gate and stepped within the charmed boundaries of the family home. She shifted the bag with Ginny's present to her other hand while she made a last feeble attempt to flatten her hair against the heat. She hadn't gotten around to really doing more than keeping herself clean in the past few months; make-up and hairdressers falling to the wayside in the face of keeping herself together and making a life on her own and with Jack. She hadn't missed the looks askance that the always fastidious Draco would throw her sometimes when she just threw herself together. She didn't care though, she was only around Jack all day and occasionally him.

The kitchen door opened before Hermione was within three meters of it. Ginny's silhouette was outlined by the lights blazing from the kitchen and beyond, her hair lit up like a flame.

"Hermione!" Her hands came up in a welcoming motion. "Jack!" The baby seemed to be favoring sleep more than his aunt right now. Hermione wondered if Ginny had gotten to the firewhiskey a little early, her manicness suspect.

As Hermione approached her, she saw that the smile was just a little forced, the eyes just a little worried and realized that her sister was concerned about how this evening was going to go. Hermione smiled in reassurance, placing a calming hand on Ginny's shoulder. "Hey," she greeted. "Don't worry, Gin. It's good to be back with the family. I'll be fine." She looked beyond Ginny towards the open door to the living room where she saw most of the family had already gathered. "More than fine actually."

She didn't miss the relaxing of the redhead's shoulders as she was enveloped in a supportive hug. Taking a deep breath, Hermione moved into the living room. Everyone was there with the exception of Charlie who was in Romania and George who was on a business trip in America. They all fell silent as she walked into the room. Hermione felt frozen, her heart taking a long time to sound its next beat. And then Molly stood up to move towards her and Hermione was swallowed up in warm embraces, friendly hellos and just a few tears.

The movement seemed to unfreeze the rest of the Weasleys who converged on Hermione and Jack. Jack woke up immediately and was instantly swept up into welcoming arms. The rest of the night passed in love and family. Though it was Ginny's party, she deferred to Jack who was finally introduced to his aunts, uncles and his five-year-old cousin Victoire. Hermione sat at the dinner table, looking around at all these faces, people whom she'd been with for nearly half her life and realized that she had a lot more than Jack to just live for.

 

 

 

 

Draco padded around his flat, checking the windows and turning off the lights, getting ready to turn in for the night. His eyes fell on the papers stacked neatly on his dark wood coffee table and he smiled. It was a smile that had been rare in his life prior to the accident but one which seemed to appear more often these days. The smile was one of pride.

Draco was familiar with pride, but one of a different sort; the kind that went with being of pure blood, of being rich and above the rest of the kids at school, of knowing that he had the winning hand in a game of cards or life. But this type of pride—the kind that came with doing something worthwhile with his life, something that actually helped more than just himself or his family—it was different but it was satisfying in a way that Draco couldn't have imagined.

He sat on the couch, picking up the papers from the table. He flipped through the sheets, not really reading them as he already knew what they were about but just because he wanted to feel the tangible evidence of something  _good_  that he'd done. His eyes focused on the signature of the Head Director of St. Mungo's.

It was an idea that Draco had gotten in his weeks at the hospital. The staff there were overworked and underpaid but happy in what they were doing for the most part. He'd come to form respect for the people who chose to work in a field that sometimes robbed one of having a life but gave one a career that left a look of completion on all the faces of those who worked there. They'd been certain in the good they were providing to the community.

He'd seen other volunteers like himself there, people who'd been assigned the work due to some infraction or another. A lot of them didn't have that look of satisfaction. They'd only come to the hospital because they'd had to.

He'd seen one such person, a Milton March, treat a patient's needs as if they were nothing and he'd seen the patient's despairing look when Milton had turned his back. He hadn't liked that look and he'd taken Milton into the corridor and gotten in his face about his attitude. Milton had thought Draco was overreacting until the Chief Healer on duty overheard the argument and, after finding the reason why, had sent Milton out of the hospital, letting him know that he was going to report it to the court. Draco had still been simmering about the man's irresponsibility.

The Chief Healer, Craig Forley, had turned to Draco with a gleam of admiration for the younger man and had clapped him on the shoulder, a friendly gesture. He'd made a simple statement to Draco that meant more to him than anything his own father had imparted to him in his years of growing up in that cold Manor. Craig, a man that Draco had only been around for a few short weeks and who Draco was likely to never see again after his community service was over, had told him, "Who said all Malfoys were bad?"

He felt a corner of his mouth lift at recalling the statement. Everyone said Malfoys were bad. Because they were. But maybe, his finger swept over the text of the papers in his hand, this Malfoy could be good.

The contract and agreement he'd been able to wrangle with St. Mungo's was a scholarship that funded the education and certification of those who wanted to have a career in medicine but were unable to afford it themselves. The granting of such a scholarship would be at the discretion of the hospital board. The only condition that Draco had stipulated was that the applicant would need to volunteer at the hospital for at least three weeks before the person could apply and before the board could make a decision. He thought it would be best if the individual really knew what they were getting into. It wasn't an easy job.

According to the papers, the scholarship was funded by an anonymous donor. While it would look good for the Malfoy name that a member of the family was showing generosity, Draco had not wanted to have his name connected to it. He felt that others would look at it and think that he was trying to ingratiate himself with the "good side" when he was really just doing this for himself in a way, because he wanted to. He didn't want to be judged or measured up against anything. He just wanted to help.

He sighed at the amount of mental maneuvering that seemed to accompany his every action. He didn't know how others seemed to be able to be kind and giving without any other thought of how this might look to others, did they have an ulterior motive in doing so, were they doing this just to have someone indebted to them, etc. These were all his thoughts that tagged onto any movement that could be deemed "selfless." This inner reflection was hard to get used to and sometimes he just wanted to ask Hermione – who seemed to embody "goodness" or, he thought wryly, at least "goody-two-shoes" – if it would get any easier but he'd always hesitated. The hesitation had mainly been due to his dishonesty with her.

His gaze slid to the crumpled note next to the scholarship papers. He didn't need to read it again to remember what it'd said:

_I need to know today. Otherwise…_

_S._

His eyes closed as his head dropped, the weight of Blaise and Ron's deaths sitting heavily on his shoulders. He hadn't forgotten Sybil, he'd just not known what to do about her and so had pushed aside her blackmail attempt while he'd helped Hermione as she'd dealt with her father's stroke. He'd half-hoped that Sybil would have moved onto her next mark by now. But the power of greed ran like blood through the woman's veins.

There really was only one solution to this mess. It had really been the only solution since Sybil had seen him two weeks ago, and would've had to happen anyway if Draco continued to be a part of Jack's life. He would have to tell Hermione himself and hope that she would be able to forgive him. With the decision made, the weight lifted slightly from him and he was able to breath a little easier than he had in months.

 

 

 

 

The late morning sun found Draco dashing about his flat in a mild panic. He'd woken up later than he had planned and the morning was over half gone. Having spent so much time with Hermione and Jack these past few months, he knew that the best time to catch her for a serious conversation would've been before the day really got going. Jack always seemed a bit subdued until after lunch, something that made Draco feel that the little guy would pick up the habit of drinking coffee once he was old enough.

He dumped the remains of his own coffee cup in the sink and thought briefly of setting the dishwashing charm before rejecting the idea. His own emotions were in more than the normal turmoil at the moment and he didn't trust himself wielding his wand. Jemima's terrified face flashed in his mind and his hands unconsciously clenched. He shook his head, trying to clear it. He did  _not_ need those memories surfacing right now.

He apparated in a secluded area at the side of Hermione's home where an ivy-covered wall hid this side of the house from neighbors' eyes. His fingers found the note from Sybil the night before. It wasn't exactly the talisman he would've chosen but it served to keep himself on the course he had set himself to last night. Hermione had been through enough in the past year and what he had to say—to  _confess_ —should come from him and not some stranger with a vendetta.

He moved to the front of the cottage and paused at the front steps. He gazed unseeingly at the pale green door. What were a few more moments of hesitation? He was about to do something he'd never thought he'd have to, in his years of growing up with Hermione, Ron and Harry. He also never dreamed of being where he was at now, twisted up inside because Hermione and Ron's son represented all that was good in Draco's life and, he felt his hands grow clammy at this thought, Hermione did, too. Since he'd been involved in these Weasleys' lives, he'd come to like Hermione herself and considered her a friend, one of the very few he had in his life. He did not want to lose that either.

However, he knew he would need to do this if they were to continue at all. If she threw him out of her and Jack's lives, then that was her prerogative, but Draco didn't need to take that lying down. He could fight to have himself heard, try to make it up to her and her son as pitiful as it would be compared to the loss of her husband, but he was damned if he was just going to let his cowardice continue to lay between them.

Taking a deep breath, he consciously relaxed his shoulders and stance, his fingers opening and closing slightly to get the blood flowing once more. As he ascended the first step, the door swung inward. Caught off guard, he froze. His blood ran cold when his eyes met the mocking blue ones of Sybil.

Her eyes widened slightly as she registered who'd come to visit Hermione just before her mouth settled into a smug smirk. She stepped all the way through the doorway, closing it quietly behind her, obviously not wanting the occupants inside to know who was there just yet. She made her way to him in a deliberate and sure manner that was enough to get feeling settling back into his body. The rage was slowly registering on him, not enough to move his horror-stricken muscles just yet but it was there.

"Hadn't expected to see you here, Drakey."

The oiliness of her tone and the abhorrent nickname was enough to overcome the last of his lethargy. Moving before either of them really registered it, he grabbed Sybil's arm and none to gently dragged her down the steps and to the Apparition point. She attempted to struggle out of his hold, but her efforts were met by the implacable anger that surrounded him.

Throwing her arm away from him, he spat at her angrily, unable to gather enough breath to yell, "What did you tell her, bitch?"

Sybil didn't answer right away, her hand coming up to rub at the spot where Draco had grabbed her. It seemed to always be coming to manhandling where Draco was concerned these days. She sighed, her skin remembering the sensuous of his caresses.

"Sybil!"

His sharp tone and shortened proximity caught her attention. She couldn't help the malicious tilt to her lips. Behind the fury in his gaze, she could see fear lurking there.  _Good_ , he deserved to have his heart broken like he'd broken hers. The thought brought her to the matter at hand at last.

"I told her, you coward! I told her!" she hissed back at him, compelled to keep her own volume low. Let the pathetic woman inside be surprised when her traitor lover came to greet her; caught off guard, she would lash out emotionally and not in the analytical way she was known for. "You don't deserve to be known as the 'hero' when you and I both know that that is not who you are. If I'm a bitch then you're a bastard for refusing to tell her that it was you that caused that accident.  _You're_ the one who killed her husband."

Despite himself, he flinched. She didn't miss his reaction and moved in for the kill, her manicured nail hitting him in the chest to punctuate her next statement. "Don't think that just because you got rid of Ron that that means you can just move in on his life. His widow now knows that you haven't changed one bit from your old days and she is ready to take you apart. Live with that, you asshole."

She turned to go, feeling vindicated. It only lasted for a second as Draco got himself together and spun her around once more. His eyes had darkened to granite, his voice was low and frightening in its lack of emotion.

"You get yourself out of town by the end of this week and never contact me or Hermione or family, or I will tell every newspaper, owl and gossip in our world of your exact misdeeds when you were engaged to Blaise. My name is already ruined but yours, which has so far remained pristine, especially with your touching performance at Blaise's funeral, will be ripped to shreds and tossed into the gutter. You will never be able to get your next rich sucker or attend those social frenzies you call 'parties.' Hell, you won't even be able to walk down the street without having someone spit on your shoes. You get out and you never come back here again."

He turned away from Sybil, knowing she was enough of a coward that she would run and not come back, just as he told her. He didn't look back.


	17. Coming to Terms

Hermione was waiting for him on her front steps. He knew immediately from her stance that she was upset. Hell, he knew from the moment Sybil had walked out the door that she was upset. Hermione stood stiffly, her hands fisted at her sides. The teal knit sweater she wore hung loosely from her shoulders; the extra weight from her pregnancy might never have existed, she'd wasted away in her months of grief. Her dark curls fell around her narrow chin which was clenched in anger. Her gaze was fixed straight ahead, though she must have been aware that he was coming around the corner.

He stopped in front of her but did not say a word as he gathered himself to meet her eyes. Because she was a couple steps up, she stood level with him; a deliberate maneuver on her part. Her expression was forbidding and her eyes were slightly red. The thought that she might've been crying caused his insides to clench. He didn't want to do that to her.

She'd become a friend to him, a real one: one that knew his background and his faults, one who had trusted him enough to let him be with her precious son. These types of friends were rare in a Malfoy's life. He didn't want to lose that, almost as much as he didn't want to lose Jack.

He opened his mouth, hoping that some sort of explanation would come out that would calm her, get them through this.

She cut him off. "I don't actually want to hear it."

His mouth snapped shut.

"I thought you were my friend, Draco. I thought you were here to help me and to help Jack. But you weren't. You were only here to help yourself." Her voice wavered and she paused to visibly get it back under control. "You deliberately withheld why Blaise was upset that night. You knew that if you'd told me about Sybil, Blaise, and the whole sordid affair that I wouldn't let you be here. That I wouldn't have let you in my home and that I certainly would not have let you near Jack!" This last was shouted at him. He tried not to flinch; the words hitting him deeper than he would've thought.

"I—"

"No," she interrupted him once more, "you don't get to give me an explanation. You've been lying to me for months, attempting to assuage your guilt with  _my_ child. I won't have it. You're a pathetic excuse for a human being. Honesty was too much to expect of you. You're living up to your family's heritage, Draco."

Her pale face closed off at this, the anger and betrayal locking up inside. She turned and went through her door, the lock an audible click in his ears.

 

 

 

 

Hermione kept herself very occupied over the next few weeks. Though she was still technically on maternity leave, she asked Gregory to send her manuscripts to look over and he happily obliged.  _Printing Sheets_  was always just a little undermanned and a bit overwhelmed with the amount of traffic that hit them.

This work was juggled with her care of Jack and cursed herself when she found herself missing Draco's support. The man had insinuated himself into their lives for no other reason than to make himself feel better.

She spent time visiting her family, including the Weasley side. Since Ginny's party, she'd been able to face more and more of them without feeling weighed down in sadness. In fact, each friendly and loved face, each caring word and silly bit of news about their lives helped fill the emptiness that had yawned open inside.

She tried to ignore the small quiet voice inside that said she was overreacting, that this behavior was  _exactly_ why Draco had stalled on telling her. She smothered that voice. She'd let a  _Malfoy_  be a part of her life, handle her child, claim some corner of her existence! This last thought punctuated a particularly hard pound on the chicken breast she was flattening for tonight's dinner.

"Honey?" Ginny's red head popped up from the living room floor where she'd been playing with Jack. "Everything fine in there?"

Hermione shook her head, the inevitable two or three curls that would not stay in the knot she'd tied her hair into falling in her face. Impatiently, she blew them away from her as she continued to pound the chicken at a more moderate force.

"Yes, I'm okay," she called back.

The silence from the living room was significant. She could just picture Harry in the sitting chair exchanging a silent glance with his wife. Hermione guessed that it would be Harry sent in to the kitchen to find out what was happening with her. Harry and Ginny both had not asked any questions about the lack of Draco's presence, despite the fact that he'd been with Hermione and Jack almost steadily since Greg's stroke and had been a regular fixture before that.

Irritation swept through her. She didn't need to explain herself to them. It was her life and if she'd been stupid enough to let Draco into it, then it was her problem to deal with. Chewing over these thoughts as she continued dinner preparations heightened her annoyance so by the time Harry stepped into the kitchen, her first words were not exactly what she would've chosen.

"Don't try to come in here and fix this, Harry! Draco is who he's always been and the façade he presented to you and me was just that: a pretense, a false front made to fool all of us into thinking he was a better person. I thought he'd changed, but he hasn't! He's the same selfish, self-serving, advantage-seeking, rotten bastard we've always thought he was!"

Harry'd been stopped in his footsteps, black eyebrows disappearing into the floppy hair he never seemed to grow out of. His green eyes were wide behind his glasses.

"Um," he started, bringing one hand up to rub the back of his neck, "I was actually just trying to find out if you needed help in here…" He trailed off as she threw him a withering look at his attempt at levity.

He dropped his hand and shrugged, clearing his throat in the way he had when he was broaching an awkward subject. Some of Hermione's irritation faded at the endearing and familiar gesture. Even though Harry commanded an Auror force almost two hundred strong and was known throughout their world for his power as a wizard, he never made thought that gave him a right to know everything about anyone. Even his closest friends.

"So…Draco, huh?"

Hermione simply raised her own eyebrows at him, letting him figure out how he was going to ask his question. She may not be irritated at him anymore, but she didn't really want to get into it with him. When he didn't immediately say anything, she turned back to the stove, charming the various pans to start brewing and boiling.

She heard him shift closer. "Did he do something, Hermione? Did he hurt you or Jack?"

She was momentarily startled at the underlying fierceness in his questions. She turned back to him, defensiveness inexplicable welling up in her.

"No! Of course not!" She bit her lip at her exclamation. Harry stared at her.

"Well," he paused, "what then?"

"I—he—" with a growl of frustration her hands came up to rub at her temples. She decided to start over. "Sybil Graham came to see me about a month ago."

"Sybil. Wasn't she engaged to Blaise?" Confusion was evident in his tone.

"Yes, except that she and Draco had been having an affair. Blaise found out about it on the night of the—of—" she dropped her eyes, watching the spoon stir the sauce. She couldn't get the rest of the words out, her throat closing on them. Harry stepped closer, one hand coming up to touch hers gently, offering comfort without really saying anything. Her tearful eyes met his and she took a breath to continue. "Anyway, Draco's the reason Blaise was out on the road in the first place."

Harry looked at her, not saying anything, just understanding.

"Gin?" he called out to his wife. "Can you take over in here?" he asked when she came into the kitchen, Jack propped up on her hip.

Ginny's eyes met her husband's before taking stock of Hermione's face and she smiled gently, nodding. Jack was passed over to his mother as they moved back to the living room. Harry led her to the couch and sat with her, the baby cuddled in her arms, Jack for once just willing to sit there. She ran an absent hand over Jack's ginger hair, smoothing it down, not really aware of her actions.

"He let us think that he had changed, Harry. He saves me. He's nice to me and you. He plays 'kind uncle' to Jack. And then I find out that he's been hiding his involvement in Blaise's drinking and lying by omission. I feel betrayed because I thought he was my  _friend_. I thought  _Draco Malfoy_ was my friend." She met Harry's gaze, hoping that he'd understand what she was more angry about because she was just starting to understand it herself.

It wasn't necessarily that Draco had been having an affair with Sybil. It was the type of behavior she'd have expected of him at the time. It wasn't even that his argument with Blaise was what had set him off enough to drink heavily and drive that night. She could lay the blame with him for Ron's death, but in the same breath, she'd have to do the same with herself, and that was something she'd had to come to terms with in the past several months.

It was the fact that he'd kept it from her all these months when he was her  _friend_. He wasn't just an acquaintance or someone who'd paid lip service at Ron's death and the birth of her baby and then gone off to live their own life. He'd been there from the beginning, helped her connect with her son and had been a reliable shoulder to bear the weight of responsibilities since her father's stroke. This is why it hurt her so much. Friends didn't keep things like that from each other. She shook her head before repeating that last thought to Harry.

He nodded. After a moment's silence, he spoke, as always willing to voice the hard thoughts. "Do you think that maybe, he didn't want to tell you because he thought you might cut all ties with him? That maybe, you'd assume the worst of him because he's 'a Malfoy' and stop being his friend? Like what you're doing now?" His voice wasn't judging, just matter-of-fact.

She stared at him for a moment, feeling her cheeks burn with part anger and part shame. She was doing that, wasn't she? Harry'd just said what she'd been thinking these past few days.

"But Harry…" she trailed off, not even really knowing how to continue. Jack slapped at her hands in a playful manner, oblivious to the conversation.

"Draco is a Malfoy and that's something that we're never going to be able to forget. We'll never forget what happened to us as kids, but we also have to be able to take into account what we now know as adults. I've seen him with you and Jack, Hermione. He cares, as hard as it is to believe. I—" he cut himself off with a huff of a laugh. "I can't believe it. I'm  _defending_ him, Hermione." He gave her a half-deprecating smile.

She smiled wanly back at him, finding irony in the situation.

"I wouldn't write off what he's done for you and for Jack in the past year. I don't know if it was the accident, the community service, Jack, or you, but something's changed the man."

Hermione looked down, letting Jack escape her hold so he could wriggle between Harry and her. She thought of how hard it would've been taking care of Jack and dealing with her grief if Draco hadn't been there along with her family. She sighed and finally acceded something. Friends also didn't cut off the other person from tell their side before shutting them out. "I know."

"Did you even let him talk?" Harry asked softly, a knowing look in his eye.

Chagrined, she met his look. "No."

He picked his nephew up and pulled him up to eye level so that the baby could grab his glasses off his nose. Without looking back at her, letting her come to a decision on her own, he gave his final piece of advice. "Then maybe you should."

 

 

 

The building Draco lived in was just what she would expect of him. Imposing and elite. Except that it wasn't couched in the wizarding world's specialized part of town, but in the muggle's side. That was unexpected. Hermione mentally shrugged. Just another prejudice and assumption she'd have to set aside. She was a little appalled at the realization of the extent of her close-mindedness.

It had taken her a few days to get herself here in front of his door. She hadn't really wanted to but the conversation with Harry continued to linger in her thoughts. She also couldn't help but notice that sometimes when she entered her son's nursery that he would light up and then slightly deflate upon realizing it was just his mum. She didn't know if this was just her making it up, but it'd started to make her feel guilty. Or guiltier enough to drive her here.

The door opened before she could gather herself enough to knock and Draco came to a surprised stop preventing him from tripping over her. She sucked in a breath as she looked up at him, a head taller than her, not even knowing why she was so nervous. He loomed for only a moment before he took a step back, giving them both breathing air.

His light eyes were shadowed as they met hers in a questioning gaze. Her own eyes flitted from his to what she could see of his flat over his shoulder. Dark furniture, wooden floors,  _typical_. She cursed at herself. No more! Though it would help if he didn't keep fitting himself into the box she'd designed for him.

"Hermione?" he prompted.

She came back to the moment and cleared her throat, trying to buy time as the opening lines to this difficult conversation had been erased from the script. "I—that is, I—"

"Would you like to come in?" he asked, saving her from tangling her tongue further. He opened the door wider and made a gesture to what was obviously his sitting area. She nodded and stepped through, making her way to the black armchair. She noted that austerity to his home, mainly dark colors, a picture frame here and there, two or three pieces of abstract art on the walls and tables. He took his seat on the couch as she took hers.

He let the silence sit and grow between them, obviously feeling he'd done his part in whatever conversation she had come here to have. She forced herself to sit still and meet his gaze, despite the compunction to fiddle with the strap of her handbag.

"Draco—I—blast!" She hated that she wasn't able to articulate nor think in any sort of linear way at the moment. Bypassing the analytical side of her, she spoke what she felt.

"I'm never going to like your family."

The blunt statement had Draco sitting back in the couch, as if to escape the hostility to her words.

"I'm never going to forget what your aunt did to me and I'm never going to fully get over the fact that you were a part of that, even if it was unwillingly. I—"

His eyebrows had risen as she'd continued and he moved to interrupt her, "Look, if you just came here—"

"But I'm not going to let the bad that you've had in your life and that we've shared as kids, overtake the friendship that has become inexplicably important in my life."

He settled back down, vulnerability momentarily evident on his features before he shut that in. Hermione felt a pang as she witnessed his attempt to protect himself from her. She ran a hand into her hair, grabbing a fistful before letting her hand fall back into her lap, not caring that her distress was clear to him, having already shown him worse in the past. "I'm here to get your side of the story now. Like I should have weeks ago."

The admission was startling to Draco. The fact that Hermione had come here at all was surprising. He'd genuinely thought that when she'd shut the door on his face that that was the last he'd see of her and Jack. He'd been pretty subdued over the past month, involving himself with his project at the hospital and other inane activities. But also mainly sitting at home, realizing how much of his time had been spent with Hermione and the boy. And missing it.

He'd not been sure if he was even going to try to make it up to her, a part of him feeling angry at the fact that she'd just brush away months of caring and helping and just being there for something that he would've eventually told her, when he'd gotten up to doing that. Her exact reaction had been what he'd been avoiding. Her hardheadedness was something he'd become familiar with as a boy and had seen more glimpses of recently. He was also familiar with slanted view their world had of his family. More than familiar, his family had been so inundated with derision and scorn that they'd basically become hermits in their wandless years.

"So…?" she prompted, echoing his earlier action.

He merely raised an eyebrow at her. Okay, so she'd come here to apologize, though she hadn't really said the words. That small part of him that'd been angry suddenly reared its head and he found that he wasn't ready to get over it just yet.

"I'm so glad you deigned to let me speak my piece." His tone was sandpaper dry.

Her hands clenched into fists on her lap as her gaze started to burn. She stood up suddenly and headed to the door, necessitating him to jump up after her. The anger gone.

"Wait! I'm sorry, Hermione. I'm ready to talk, I was just…" he trailed off as he tried to find an explanation for his knee jerk reaction. She'd stopped between the door and the couch, her back to him. He watched the stiffness of her shoulders relax beneath the light jacket she wore as she came to some sort of decision. Turning back to him, she raised her eyes to meet his, a touch of self-deprecation in her brown eyes.

"It's so easy to upset each other, but we work best when we don't over think this, don't we?"

He smiled as he realized how that simple statement summed up their relationship. Her own lips turned up in response.

The tension diffused between them, she moved back to the armchair as he sat down on the couch. Feeling like he should do something more to make it easier, he made a gesture towards his kitchen. "Want something to drink?"

She shook her head, watching her hands settle on her knees before looking up at him.

"I would really like to hear what happened that night. All of it," she added, her mind obviously going back to the day where he'd recounted the story, only missing a few details then.

Taking a deep breath, he went back over that night, the argument, the pain in his best friend's eyes, the need to make sure he was safe and the failure to see that through. His eyes didn't see Hermione or his flat anymore, just the terrible, fateful night that had changed his life.

"His mother didn't want me at his funeral so I went to his grave afterwards. I—" he stopped, rubbing his face, the moment too raw for him. Hermione stayed silent. "There's no way I'm ever going to make it up to him, Hermione. What I did to him…there's no way."

She could empathize with the pain that laced his words. And in that moment, she saw that  _this_ was what actually bonded them. It wasn't Jack or the fact that he'd saved her that night. It was survivor's guilt: the fact that they survived and the others didn't. Sure, she'd been able to get over it slowly, but some part of her would always feel this way. She could see that it would be the same for him.

Tentatively, she reached a hand out to the man who sat forward, head bent over his knees, lost in his dark thoughts. She touched his shoulder lightly and rested her hand there. She could feel him stiffen beneath her fingers before he allowed the simple human touch. Several moments passed before he straightened and she sat back in her own chair. Surreptitiously, he wiped at his eyes and she politely looked away.

"I wasn't carrying a wand that night, but by all that is magic, I wish that I had been!" The words were fierce.

It hadn't missed her that Draco hardly ever carried a wand. It was noticeable given that he was a Pureblood and a wand, aside from its propensity in magic, was also symbolic to being a wizard. She'd of course known of the wand-ban placed on Draco and his mother all those years ago, but she figured that the moment it was lifted, he'd be attached to his wand. Yet another thing she'd gotten wrong about him.

"Why don't you carry a wand?" she asked hesitantly. He'd deflected previous attempts at clarification on this point.

His grey eyes focused on hers, more pain washing across his expression before he pushed it back. The laugh that followed was filled with only a smidgen of humor. "How 'bout I tell you that sad story later? I think this is about all I can handle in the honesty department tonight."

She felt herself smile. "Yeah, okay." She looked down at her hands, seemingly distracted by the uncharacteristic fidgety movements of her fingers. Taking a breath, she glanced up to find him watching her.

"So where does this leave us?" His question was utterly sincere.

The answer to that question was rather simple.

"Friends."

A sudden grin came over him, lightening the intensity of what had transpired. "Friends. Good."


	18. Four Years Later

The cottage was in chaos. Paper streamers hung from every conceivable corner of the living room and hall, barely held in place by bright yellow and blue balloons. Food was scattered across every flat surface: cookies, chips, cheese along with juice boxes. Wrapping paper layered the living room floor, crunching beneath the feet of the adults as they followed their children outside to supervise them.

Hermione met Draco's eyes over the kitchen counter, hands busy with the final touches to Jack's birthday cake. He nodded, understanding and went outside to keep an eye on Jack who had just started to take swings at the paper-mâché Kneazle. Hermione had had doubts about a four-year-old holding a bat, but Draco had found a plastic one and charmed it so that it would not touch any of the children. Plus, he'd planned on just causing the Kneazle to burst open on the second tap, raining candy and chocolate on the preschoolers.

It was the first birthday party she'd thrown for Jack that included kids outside of the Weasley-Potter family and she was being driven a bit mad by it. In addition to the various cousins that Jack had now gained, he had his playmates from the daycare center. He'd been more than happy to show his friends around his home, probably introducing them to the various nooks and crannies that his mother would never know of.

Ginny had come over as early as she could that day, but she had three kids to wrangle into line so she didn't end up coming until close to lunch. Hermione shook her head, a half-smile on her face as she remembered Ginny's entrance: her eldest, James, being dragged in by the back of his shirt and the twins, Albus and Rose, being levitated in their double-carrier. She didn't envy Ginny the kids she had; Jack was enough of a handful as it was.

It was such a bittersweet date and always would be for Hermione. The day she'd gained her baby boy was the day she'd lost her husband.

At the end of the first year without Ron in her life since she was ten years old, she'd found herself sitting in the darkness of Jack's room, taking comfort from the sleepy sounds that emanated from his crib. She'd gone through the motions that day, visiting her parents and letting them coo over their only grandchild. Ginny and Harry had stopped by earlier but hadn't been able to stay long as Ginny was in the final trimester of her first pregnancy and she tired quickly.

Draco had also stopped by but seemed to sense that she didn't really want company and had left her and Jack after only dropping off his present. Things had still been a little tender between them, though they'd had a chance to resolve some of the tension following Sybil's "intervention."

She'd ended the night by lighting a small candle in a cupcake for Jack, a party just for the two of them. He'd been delighted, clapping his small pudgy hands together, trying to catch the flame with his fingers. Hermione had been unable to hold back her laughter at her son's antics, despite the moroseness that had crept back over her. However, with her son asleep and no one around, she'd dropped the strong façade she'd been wearing and let the tears come.

The next day, when Draco had come to pick Jack up so that Hermione could get to  _Printing Sheets_ , he'd not missed Hermione's swollen eyes and puffy face. At first he hadn't commented on it, but as they parted ways outside her door, he'd diffidently voiced, "Call me next year."

She didn't.

But he'd shown up anyway with a sheepish smile and a bottle of wine from a good year. She let him in because he was a friend and because she was already crying by the time he'd knocked on her door. They'd spent the night sitting companionably next to each other in the hallway outside of Jack's room, passing the bottle between them, mostly silent. Sometimes she'd think of something funny that Ron had said once or an incident involving herself, Harry and Ron, and she'd reminisce about it. Draco just listened.

She'd fallen asleep on his shoulder. She woke up the next day, laying in her bed, fully clothed with only the knitted throw she kept at the foot of her bed over her. She'd wandered around the house to find Draco sprawled on her couch. She'd only smiled and donated her throw to him, without disturbing his sleep. Something akin to friendly affection had sprung up in her because he had come, but mainly because he'd stayed.

Last year, Ginny had cajoled Hermione into having a family dinner, not only in celebration of Jack's birthday but also of Ron's life. She'd gone and found herself enjoying it. It took being with the family for her to truly realize how introverted she could be about the loss of Ron. As if it was just  _her_ who'd lost him when this was very much not the case. She also realized at that time that having the Weasleys: Molly and Arthur, the brothers, and Ginny and Harry; they were an extension of Ron and she would never lose him as long as she had them. And through her, through Jack, they too could stay connected to their lost son and brother. She'd resolved to spend Jack's every birthday with them from that point on.

She'd delayed going home as long as possible, loving, as always, the feel of camaraderie and family that being with the Weasleys engendered. It was so far in between that they gathered all in one place with the Weasley store expanding onto two continents; Ginny's work sometimes taking her out of the country; Bill and Fleur living in France; and Charlie being Charlie; that it'd been a rare treat. Eventually though, the party dwindled down and she had to carry her three-year-old home to bed.

As she'd Apparated on her front porch, she'd been mildly surprised to find Draco waiting there for her, wine bottle in hand. They hadn't really spoken of Jack's last birthday night and he'd not attempted to do anything similar to that at all in the year following. She herself had felt awkward bringing it up. However, with him there in front of her, her heart had lifted and they'd passed the night in much the same manner as the year before.

Hermione felt that she should feel ashamed or some other negative emotion about how much she'd come to rely on Draco. When she was alone with her thoughts, she'd sometimes pull up those old arguments:  _"He's a_ Malfoy!"  _"His family sided with Voldemort,"_ " _He's getting some advantage out of this."_ None of these seemed to hold any water against all the times he'd lit up upon seeing Jack for the first time in days, or how Jack himself would ask for "Drake" on the days that he knew his mom had to go to work.

She couldn't have done all of this by herself. Not with how she'd been after the accident and in that first year how so many different things threatened to have her spiraling down again.

"Thank goodness Draco was around today, huh?"

Startled, Hermione barely stopped herself from squirting frosting all over Ginny. Ginny's eyebrows rose in response while Hermione fumbled with the paper funnel and set it aside.

"You okay, hon?"

"Yes. Basically," she amended, still a little thrown off by Ginny's comment uncannily echoing her own thoughts. She hesitated before pushing ahead, wanting to hear that what she was thinking wasn't that crazy. Ginny had always been more supportive of Draco than her other family members. The redhead seemed to know that there was more on Hermione's mind and just waited, silently moving next to her to help with putting the candles on Jack's cake.

Hermione didn't look at her as she spoke, her hands going back to icing the last part of the yellow minion cake. "That's the thing, Gin. Draco's around. He's been such a support these past few years that I don't really know what I would've done without him." It had been awhile before Hermione had been able to identify this for herself, but once acknowledged, it was as if something had clicked.

Before she could finish her full thought, Ginny interrupted. "Oh my god, you're in love with him, aren't you?"

The frosting did spurt out over the countertop this time.

"Whoa! Watch it, 'Mione!" Ginny exclaimed as she jumped back.

Hermione ignored the mess and Ginny's exclamation in favor of her own shock.

" _What?"_ she squeaked out. Draco? Love? No! She wasn't even thinking about being with another man, let alone  _Draco Malfoy_. He was a friend.  _Only_  a friend. She tried not to think she was protesting too vehemently in her own mind.

Ginny took out her wand to clean up the bright frosting from the counter and the few bits that had splattered onto her shirt. "Geez, I didn't think that that'd get  _that_ much of a reaction out of you. It isn't like he hasn't been around these past four years, helping you raise Jack. I mean, there have been plenty of times when I've come over here only to find him hanging out already. He fixes things that break down around the place, he buys toys for the boy…"

"No! It's not like that! Gin, I wasn't even going to say anything remotely close to that, so get that—that— _thought_ —out of your head." Hermione could see Ginny giving her an assessing look out of the corner of her eye, but she didn't say anything.

Mainly to head her off before she spouted any other disturbing comments, Hermione forged on with the conversation. "What I was trying to say is that I think that I should make Draco Jack's godfather."

Ginny stayed silent until Hermione finally looked up to meet her friend's eyes, noting the question in them. "Since you and Harry have started having kids, I thought that it might be best if I officially named Draco as such. You and Harry make wonderful parents, but with three of your own, I wouldn't want to add Jack as an extra burden—" Hermione ignored Ginny's hushing motion, knowing she wouldn't have thought of Jack as such, "—if something were to happen to me. And Draco, as you pointed out earlier, does love Jack and is here for him. I think he would do well with my son."

Having been able to say her piece, she turned back to the cake, finishing it off without any further interruptions. As she wiped her hands clean on an extra cloth and lit the candles with a wave of her wand, she let Ginny collect her thoughts. It wasn't until they were both walking out into the yard, watching Draco give a silent spell to burst the Kneazle piñata into an explosion of candy and confetti much to the delight of the surrounding preschoolers, did Ginny speak.

"Not that I think or want anything to happen to you, but I think that Draco is a fine choice. And," she added as Jack ran up to Draco, his ginger curls flopping over his little ears, small hands full of candy and eager to show "Drake," who bent down to grab the boy and swing him up with a wide grin, "I think Draco would be honored."

Hermione hoped so, too.

 

 

 

 

"It's fine! Draco and I can clean up!" Hermione stated loudly over her sister-in-law's protests. She could see that Ginny was already tired, carting her three sleeping kids to her car out in the drive. Ginny gave a weary wave of her one free hand, before Hermione closed the door. Turning, a wry smile appeared on her face when her eyes found Draco standing there, wine bottle in hand.

"It's a good year. '97." He shrugged, indicating the wine bottle, the dark blue jumper pulling at his shoulders. A fact that Hermione was  _not_ noting. She mentally sighed at the direction of her thoughts, feeling that this wouldn't have become an issue at all if Ginny hadn't so mistakenly blurted out earlier today.

In her heart, Hermione knew that Ron would not want her to spend the rest of her life alone and leave Jack without a father figure. Draco did a fine job, more than a fine job, of being there for Jack. She just couldn't think of him like  _that_.

She followed Draco to the living room where they took up their usual positions on nights they found themselves not quite ready to call it a day. She sat in the worn armchair, feet tucked underneath her; he took his place on the couch, legs stretched out before him. They were far enough not to be touching if she happened to bring her legs down, but close enough that they would be able to pass the bottle between them. Though Hermione wasn't one to indulge often in alcohol and she didn't think she'd ever really been drunk in her life, she felt that this date would always be an exception for her to at least get a little tipsy, take the edge off the grief that reared its head.

They sat in silence for long moments, not really needing to say anything, the years of friendship having finally settled the two into something akin to the camaraderie she experienced with her closest friends. There was, however, just a little bit that she felt that one of them held back; whether it was her or it was Draco, she wasn't sure. Ginny's words came back to her. She knew that there wasn't anything on her end, but maybe…she looked at the man beside her.

He'd slouched down in the couch, his head resting on the back of the furniture, eyes closed, face in repose. His hand was stretched toward her, ready to pass the wine back, but she was more interested in trying to find a hint of what could possibly have led Ginny to uttering the words "Draco" and "love" in the same sentence.

She could acknowledge that he was good-looking to a certain extent, the angles of his face a bit sharper than most, his body lean, but not lanky. She'd been exposed continuously over the past few years to the good heart that lay beneath that prickly and somewhat cold exterior. She just couldn't think with him ever being willing to give over that much of himself to a rather strong emotion. Again, it also wasn't something she was looking for herself.

When Hermione didn't take the bottle back, Draco opened his eyes to find himself on the receiving end of one of her assessing looks. Her eyes seemed to be drawn to his throat, either lost in thought and not really seeing him, or finding something fascinating at that point. His Adam's apple bobbed a little in response and he felt a tingling in his hands that had him sitting up. The movement seemed to break the spell for her and her eyes met his, a slight flush appearing on her face. Curious about her reaction, and a little embarrassed about his, he put the bottle on the coffee table before him, wiping his palms on his trousers.

"What?" he asked, not liking the hoarseness his voice had adopted. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat.

She shook her head, causing a couple dark curls to fall over her shoulder. His gaze unwittingly followed the movement, which apparently mad her uncomfortable as she put up a hand to move her hair back. He caught himself and looked away, towards the bottle of wine. Maybe he'd had a little more than he'd intended if he was letting himself slip like this.

Shifting her position on the chair, she pulled the edges of her long-sleeved shirt over her wrists, a gesture Draco recognized as nerves. It'd been awhile since she'd displayed them in front of him, so he tensed, unsure of what she was going to say, but knowing it would be significant.

Since they'd started anew after Sybil (the last he'd heard of her was that she was in America with some rich Pureblood), they'd slowly passed over the barriers of prejudice erected by their upbringing and past experiences until they'd finally become comfortable in each other's presence, even able to divulge moments from the times before they'd become friends. Though those moments were rare as they tended to stick to the here and now. It was one of their tacit agreements.

He was content with where they were at: he helping out with raising Jack, taking some load off of Hermione's petite shoulders, and even being able to spend time together without the buffer of Jack. Draco, very deep down and something never shared with anyone, had even begun to think of all three of them as a family unit. He knew Hermione and plenty others would have a problem with that, and so he never said it.

His eyes slid over to her again as she shifted once more, taking in her delicately molded features, the curling brown hair, her dark and serious eyes, her soft mouth. He felt his body respond, a reaction that had become more frequent in the past months. He mentally sighed. Maybe it was only natural as Hermione was the one woman he'd spent any sort of consistent time with in the last years, but he was beginning to suspect that this was not just physical.

Before he could get into that further, she spoke. "I've been thinking," she paused, and Draco sat back, letting her gather her words, "just setting up for Jack's future which—" she stopped Draco with a look, knowing he'd been about to interrupt, "I know is monetarily taken care of. But in case something were to happen to me," again she prevented him from interrupting with a glance, "I wanted you to be his godfather."

His mouth shut almost with an audible snap. That he hadn't been expecting. Yes, he'd been around since Jack was born, but he'd never thought she'd grant him that much of a permanent place in the boy's life. There was more unspoken between them than out in the open. Such was their relationship: both careful people that had been badly hurt in the past to be obvious about anything emotionally.

Her fingers moved over themselves in her lap, and realized that she was waiting for him to say something. "I—I—" he ran a hand through his hair, leaving blond tufts sticking up in its wake,  _Get it together, man,_ "really am—that's just—I mean," he took a deep breath, his gray eyes meeting her dark ones, "thank you. You know what your son means to me, and just knowing you trust me enough with that—"

Her tentative touch on his wrist stopped his fumbling words. He wondered if she felt the same thrill that he did at the skin to skin contact. She sat back after a moment, seemingly unfrazzled, but smiling softly. "I'm glad you'll be there for Jack."

They shared a look of understanding, their mutual love for the child with a tragic beginning binding them in a way that Draco was hoping would crystallize into something  _more_.

"Now, we just have to tell the rest of the Weasleys, and hope that they'll take it okay."

He felt suddenly doused in cold water.  _Bloody hell._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, that's the last of it until I've finished writing the story. I already have the last chapter and the epilogue written, now I just have to fill in the in-between stuff. I know, it's weird, but it's how I started this story. I had the beginning and end planned out and have just been filling in the guts in the meantime. Should be five or six chapters left it looks like.
> 
> Wish me luck!


	19. Pot Meet Kettle

“Drake! Drake! Drake!” A small boy streaked through the sitting area, weaving his way nimbly through the various adults seated in an uncomfortable circle around the tea set. Draco watched Jack’s bare behind disappear around the corner, the child’s voice somehow getting louder and higher pitched though he was moving away. Draco gave an apologetic tilt of his mouth as he got up to calm the boy down. Or to at least find out where the toddler’s underpants went.

Not without a sense of relief did he leave the tense atmosphere of Arthur and Molly Weasley, Hermione, and Bill Weasley. He ignored the imploring look Hermione shot him.

He hadn’t lied to her when he told her that he’d be honored to be Jack’s godfather. Not only was she entrusting him with her only son, but she was doing it knowing full well who he was and where he’d come from. Taking into account their background, it was something he wouldn’t have been able to envision.

That thought was at the back of his mind as he caught the screaming boy in his arms, walking towards Jack’s room to get some clothes on him. If _he_ had a hard time accepting it, he couldn’t begin to think how the Weasleys’ were going to reconcile themselves to it.

Being honest to himself, he did have bitterness in the fact that they would still, all these years later, just think of him in terms of his name, his background. Wasn’t this what these “heroic” types had fought directly against? Prejudice and hate just because of one’s lineage and one’s name? They couldn’t accuse his family of discrimination towards mudbloods and half-bloods if they were just going to turn around and do the same to purebloods. It was so one-sided that he wanted to place himself in the middle of that awkward gathering and scream his head off.

However, Draco was not a demonstrative person, in anger or in any other form of emotion and so he continued to bottle it up. Hermione probably sensed some of this in him at times, her eyebrows drawing together in concern whenever she mentioned anything about the Weasley family and carefully trying not to make him feel excluded. Except it was so obvious that he was.

Jack squirmed out of his grasp as soon as they’d reached his room, tumbling over onto the ground like one of those trained monkeys they’d seen in a circus Draco’d taken him to. The boy rounded out the imitation with hooting calls that sounded more like an owl than furried-animal. Unable to hold onto his irritation in the face of Jack’s behavior, he captured the playing child once more with one arm as he dug out a pair of pants to cover him, ignoring his protests.

“Drake! No! No! I’m free! I’m—“ The pants were over his naked bottom.

Having lost, Jack was apparently done with Draco, immediately plopping himself down to grab the stuffed Blast-ended Skrewt that he’d chewed and manhandled for the better part of two years. As the child busied himself making fire-breathing sounds and attacking the furniture in his room, Draco reluctantly walked back to the living room.

He caught Hermione’s eye as he stepped through the doorway, but she was in the middle of saying something so didn’t move further in so as to not interrupt her.

“—been there for Jack for his entire life. I trust him with my son.” Her voice was firm, her chin set at a subtly defiant angle. He was sure that it was an unconscious motion and he felt something loosen inside of him at hearing her defend him.

There was silence following her pronouncement. Molly seemed the better of the three, nodding in understanding to what she was saying, only a slight crease between her brows. Arthur sat forward, hands clasped between his knees, looking like he was really considering what Hermione had said.

Bill was obviously the most opposed to the idea. He was leaning back on the sofa, arms crossed over his chest, his head tipped forward as he contemplated Hermione from lowered brows. He was the one to break the silence, probably voicing what the other two Weasleys were unwilling to say.

“I understand what you’re saying, Hermione, but do you really want to sign over the responsibility of your son to _him_?” If Draco was hearing the incredulity in Bill’s tone, he was sure everyone else was, too. “It’s not like Jack doesn’t have five other uncles who could be his godfather, people who are actually his family.”

Hermione shook her head. “Are you talking about you? Or Harry? Or Percy? Who all have kids of their own? Or George, who splits his life between here and the U.S.? Or Charlie, who follows where the _dragons_ go? Are you talking about them?”

Draco was surprised at the vehemence in her tone, starting to feel like he was intruding on some inner family discussion even though his name was involved. He started to move back out of the doorway, intending to go back to Jack’s room, but Hermione stopped him with a look. “Draco _is_ Jack’s family, whether he’s actually related to the rest of us.”

Hermione heard the words come out of her mouth and felt heat suffuse her face, but wouldn’t take them back. They were true. She wasn’t even sure why she was blushing other than the fact that she’d never fully acknowledged him as such and wasn’t something she’d even discussed with Draco. Stealing a glance at the tall man in the doorway, she felt some of her embarrassment fade as she saw the softened edges to his face.

Gesturing, Draco walked further into the living room, coming to take a seat next to her in the extra chair Hermione had brought in from the dining room earlier. Bill gave the younger man and Hermione a hard glance before getting up from the sofa. “Well, you’ve obviously already made your decision about Jack’s future and I don’t see why you even needed input from us. I’m not sure Ron would approve.”

With that parting remark, he made his way out of the cottage, ignoring his mother’s gasped _“Bill!”_ and the crumbling of Hermione’s shoulders. Draco’s hands fisted on his knees, but he remained seated, not wanting to cause a further scene that would upset everyone even more.

Molly turned to her husband with a stern glare. “Arthur!”

The man needed no further prompting, sighing regret as he slowly picked himself up off the couch. “I’ll speak to him, Molls.” He moved past Hermione, pausing to lay a wrinkled but kind hand on her shoulder before going outside, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Hermione forced herself to look up, meeting Draco’s eyes, noting the anger simmering underneath that mask that fell over his features when he experienced stronger emotions. She glanced at his clenched hands which he visibly relaxed as he regained control.

“I’m so sorry, my dear.” Her attention returned to her mother-in-law, her blue eyes perhaps faded in color as time had passed, but still as sharp as she remembered them from when she was a girl. “He didn’t mean it, but I guess, it’s just hard, growing up the way he did. Knowing the history of our families.” Molly finished, looking at Draco.

He nodded, not feeling it the time and place for him to air out his grievances against the bigotry in Bill’s actions and attitude.

“He did mean it, Molly. He’s being just as bigoted as Draco’s family was towards us!”

Apparently, Hermione did not have the same consideration. He couldn’t help but join Molly in looking at her in surprise. Her face was still a little red from her earlier vehemence and Bill’s outburst, but she continued over it. “I get that his last name is ‘Malfoy’ and that his family and some Purebloods were on Voldemort’s side in the War, but that was years ago, and Draco is _not_ his father, his mother, his aunt _or_ Voldemort!”

Silence followed her impassioned statements. Draco, having never really experienced someone defending him because she believed in _him_ and not his money or family, didn’t know what to say or do.

Molly’s gaze turned to him, taking in the look of shock on Draco’s face and perhaps reading more behind that look than he was comfortable with revealing, as her eyes softened. Turning back to Hermione, her voice was soothing as she agreed. “Yes, Draco here is not the same man as his family and I’ve seen Jack enough with him to know that he feels safe around him—around you.” She corrected herself, wanting to ensure that Draco was included in the conversation.

Draco tilted his head in acknowledgement, a small but sincere smile finding its way to his lips.

Her hand came out to capture his, the calluses from handling wands, pans, and seven children telling their history against his skin. He suddenly felt very young as Molly turned her motherly gaze on him. “You’ve been a fine young man to this family and if Hermione and Jack trust you, then I do, too. This family will back you.”

He felt robbed of breath at this. The famous Weasley hospitality and warmth wasn’t something he’d ever been privy to or even desiring, but this small concession on Molly’s part, the matriarch of the family, he recognized as being valuable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG I'm so sorry. This is short and a bit abrupt because every time I opened this up to add to it, I couldn't. I've added other parts of the story in the future chapters, but this chapter...ugh. I'm trying to get this wrapped up soon, but I really just needed someone else than me to read this so am putting this here. Thanks for sticking it out with me!


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